TTO 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

CALIFORNIA 

SAN  01  EGO 


PROPHETS  OF  DISSENT 


BOOKS       BY      OTTO      HELLER 


HENRIK  IBSEN:  PLAYS  AND  PROBLEMS 

STUDIES  IN  MODERN  GERMAN  LITER- 
ATURE 

LESSING'S  "  MINNA  VON  BARNHELM  " 
in  English 


Prophets  of  Dissent:  Essays 
on  Maeterlinck,  Strindberg, 
Nietzsche  and  Tolstoy 

by 

Otto  Heller 

Professor  of  Modern  European  Literature 
in  Washington  University  (St.  Louis) 


Is  there  a  thing  in  this  world  that  can  be  separated  from 

the  inconceivable  ? 

Maeterlinck,  "Our  Eternity" 


New  York    ^^_MHM^Ma»     Mcmxviii 


COPYRIGHT,  I9l8,  BY 
ALFRED    A.     KNOPF 


PRINTED  HI  UNITED  STATES  OJ  AMERICA 


To 
HELLEN  SEARS 

staunchest  of  friends 


Preface 

THE  collocation  of  authors  so  widely  at  variance 
in  their  moral  and  artistic  aims  as  are  those  as- 
sembled in  this  little  book  may  be  defended  by 
the  safe  and  simple  argument  that  all  of  these 
authors  have  exerted,  each  in  his  own  way,  an 
influence  of  singular  range  and  potency.  By  fair- 
ly general  consent  they  are  the  foremost  literary 
expositors  of  important  modern  tendencies.  It 
is,  therefore,  of  no  consequence  whether  or  not 
their  ways  of  thinking  fit  into  our  particular 
frame  of  mind;  what  really  matters  is  that  in  this 
small  group  of  writers  more  clearly  perhaps  than 
in  any  other  similarly  restricted  group  the  basic 
issues  of  the  modern  struggle  for  social  transfor- 
mation appear  to  be  clearly  and  sharply  joined. 
That  in  viewing  them  as  indicators  of  contrari- 
ous  ideal  currents  due  allowance  must  be  made 
for  peculiarities  of  temperament,  both  individual 
and  racial,  and,  correspondingly,  for  the  purely 
"personal  equation"  in  their  spiritual  attitudes, 
does  not  detract  to  any  material  degree  from  their 
generic  significance. 

[vii] 


Preface 

In  any  case,  there  are  those  of  us  who  in  the 
vortical  change  of  the  social  order  through  which 
we  are  whirling,  feel  a  desire  to  orient  ourselves 
through  an  objective  interest  in  letters  among  the 
embattled  purposes  and  policies  which  are  now 
gripped  in  a  final  test  of  strength.  In  a  crisis 
that  makes  the  very  foundations  of  civilization 
quake,  and  at  a  moment  when  the  salvation  of 
human  liberty  seems  to  depend  upon  the  success 
of  a  united  stand  of  all  the  modern  forces  of  life 
against  the  destructive  impact  of  the  most  primi- 
tive and  savage  of  all  the  instincts,  would  it  not 
be  absurdly  pedantic  for  a  critical  student  of  lit- 
erature to  resort  to  any  artificial  selection  and  co- 
ordination of  his  material  in  order  to  please  the 
prudes  and  the  pedagogues?  And  is  it  not  natural 
to  seek  that  material  among  the  largest  literary 
apparitions  of  the  age? 

It  is  my  opinion,  then,  that  the  four  great  au- 
thors discussed  in  the  following  pages  stand,  re- 
spectively, for  the  determining  strains  in  a  great 
upsetting  movement,  and  that  in  the  aggregate 
they  bring  to  view  the  composite  mental  and  moral 
impulsion  of  the  times.  Through  such  forceful 
articulations  of  current  movements  the  more  per- 
cipient class  of  readers  have  for  a  long  time  been 

[jviii] 


Preface 

enabled  to  foresense,  in  a  manner,  the  colossal  re- 
construction of  society  which  needs  must  follow 
this  monstrous,  but  presumably  final,  clash  be- 
tween the  irreconcilable  elements  in  the  contrasted 
principles  of  right  and  might,  the  masses  and  the 
monarchs. 

However,  the  gathering  together  of  Maeter- 
linck, Nietzsche,  Strindberg,  and  Tolstoy  under 
the  hospitality  of  a  common  book-cover  permits 
of  a  supplementary  explanation  on  the  ground  of 
a  certain  fundamental  likeness  far  stronger  than 
their  only  too  obvious  diversities.  They  are,  one 
and  all,  radicals  in  thought,  and,  with  differing 
strength  of  intention,  reformers  of  society,  inas- 
much as  their  speculations  and  aspirations  are 
relevant  to  practical  problems  of  living.  And  yet 
what  gives  them  such  a  durable  hold  on  our  atten- 
tion is  not  their  particular  apostolate,  but  the 
fact  that  their  artistic  impulses  ascend  from  the 
sublimal  regions  of  the  inner  life,  and  that  their 
work  somehow  brings  one  into  touch  with  the  hid- 
den springs  of  human  action  and  human  fate. 
This  means,  in  effect,  that  all  of  them  are  mystics 
by  original  cast  of  mind  and  that  notwithstanding 
any  difference,  however  apparently  violent,  of 
views  and  theories,  they  follow  the  same  introspec- 

[ix] 


Preface 

tive  path  towards  the  recognition  and  interpreta- 
tion of  the  law  of  life.  From  widely  separated 
ethical  premises  they  thus  arrive  at  an  essentially 
uniform  appraisal  of  personal  happiness  as  a  func- 
tion of  living. 

To  those  readers  who  are  not  disposed  to  grant 
the  validity  of  the  explanations  I  have  offered, 
perhaps  equality  of  rank  in  artistic  importance 
may  seem  a  sufficient  criterion  for  the  association 
of  authors,  and,  apart  from  all  sociologic  and 
philosophic  considerations,  they  may  be  willing  to 
accept  my  somewhat  arbitrary  selection  on  this 

single  count. 

O.  H. 
April,  1918. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

I     Maurice  Maeterlinck:  a  study  in  Mysti- 
cism 3 

II     August  Strindberg:  a  study  in  Eccen- 
tricity 71 

III  Friedrich  Nietzsche:  a  study  in  Exalta- 

tion 109 

IV  Leo  Tolstoy:  a  study  in  Revivalism         161 


MAURICE  MAETERLINCK 


THE  MYSTICISM  OF  MAURICE  MAETERLINCK 

UNDER  the  terrific  atmospheric  pressure 
that  has  been  torturing  the  civilization  of 
the  entire  world  since  the  outbreak  of  the 
greatest  of  wars,  contemporary  literature  of  the 
major  cast  appears  to  have  gone  into  decline. 
Even  the  comparatively  few  writers  recognized 
as  possessing  talents  of  the  first  magnitude  have 
given  way  to  that  pressure  and  have  shrunk  to 
minor  size,  so  that  it  may  be  seriously  questioned, 
to  say  the  least,  whether  during  the  past  forty 
months  or  so  a  single  literary  work  of  outstanding 
and  sustained  grandeur  has  been  achieved  any- 
where. That  the  effect  of  the  universal  embattle- 
ment  upon  the  art  of  letters  should  be,  in  the 
main,  extremely  depressing,  is  quite  natural;  but 
the  conspicuous  loss  of  breadth  and  poise  in  writ- 
ers of  the  first  order  seems  less  in  accordance 
with  necessity, — at  least  one  might  expect  a  very 
superior  author  to  rise  above  that  necessity.  In 

[31 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

any  case  it  is  very  surprising  that  it  should  be  a 
Belgian  whose  literary  personality  is  almost 
unique  in  having  remained  exempt  from  the  gen- 
eral abridgment  of  spiritual  stature. 

It  is  true  that  Maurice  Maeterlinck,  the  most 
eminent  literary  figure  in  his  sadly  stricken  coun- 
try and  of  unsurpassed  standing  among  the  con- 
temporary masters  of  French  letters,  has,  since 
the  great  catastrophe,  won  no  new  laurels  as  a 
dramatist;  and  that  in  the  other  field  cultivated 
by  him,  that  of  the  essay,  his  productiveness  has 
been  anything  but  prolific.  But  in  his  case  one  is 
inclined  to  interpret  reticence  as  an  eloquent  proof 
of  a  singularly  heroic  firmness  of  character  at  a 
time  when  on  both  sides  of  the  great  divide  which 
now  separates  the  peoples,  the  cosmopolitan  trend 
of  human  advance  has  come  to  a  temporary  halt, 
and  the  nations  have  relapsed  from  their  labo- 
riously attained  degree  of  world-citizenship  into 
the  homelier,  but  more  immediately  virtuous,  state 
of  traditional  patriotism. 

It  is  a  military  necessity  as  well  as  a  birth- 
right of  human  nature  that  at  a  time  like  the 
present  the  patriot  is  excused  from  any  pharisaical 
profession  of  loving  his  enemy.  Before  the  war, 
Maeterlinck's  writings  were  animated  by  humani- 

[4] 


Maurice  Maeterlinck 

tarian  sympathies  of  the  broadest  catholicity.  He 
even  had  a  peculiar  affection  for  the  Germans,  be- 
cause doubtless  he  perceived  the  existence  of  a 
strong  kinship  between  certain  essential  traits  in 
his  spiritual  composition  and  the  fundamental  ten- 
dencies of  German  philosophy  and  art.  But  when 
Belgium  was  lawlessly  invaded,  her  ancient  towns 
heinously  destroyed,  her  soil  laid  waste  and 
drenched  with  the  blood  of  her  people,  Maeter- 
linck, as  a  son  of  Belgium,  learned  to  hate  the 
Germans  to  the  utmost  of  a  wise  and  temperate 
man's  capacity  for  hatred,  and  in  his  war  papers 
collected  in  Les  Debris  de  la  Guerre  t  (I9I6),1 
which  ring  with  the  passionate  impulse  of  the  pa- 
triot, his  outraged  sense  of  justice  prevails  over 
the  disciplined  self-command  of  the  stoic. 

He  refuses  to  acquiesce  in  the  lenient  discrimi- 
nation between  the  guilty  Government  of  Germany 
and  her  innocent  population:  "It  is  not  true  that 
in  this  gigantic  crime  there  are  innocent  and  guilty, 
or  degrees  of  guilt.  They  stand  on  one  level,  all 
those  who  have  taken  part  in  it.  ...  It  is,  very 
simply,  the  German,  from  one  end  of  his  country 
to  the  other,  who  stands  revealed  as  a  beast  of 
prey  which  the  firm  will  of  our  planet  finally  re- 

1  "The  Wrack  of  the  Storm,"  1916. 
[51 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

pudiates.  We  have  here  no  wretched  slaves 
dragged  along  by  a  tyrant  king  who  alone  is  re- 
sponsible. Nations  have  the  government  which 
they  deserve,  or  rather,  the  government  which 
they  have  is  truly  no  more  than  the  magnified  and 
public  projection  of  the  private  morality  and  men- 
tality of  the  nation.  .  .  .  No  nation  can  be  de- 
ceived that  does  not  wish  to  be  deceived;  and  it 
is  not  intelligence  that  Germany  lacks.  .  .  .  No 
nation  permits  herself  to  be  coerced  to  the  one 
crime  that  man  cannot  pardon.  It  is  of  her  own 
accord  that  she  hastens  towards  it;  her  chief  has 
no  need  to  persuade,  it  is  she  who  urges  him  on."  l 
Such  a  condemnatory  tirade  against  the  despoil- 
ers  of  his  fair  homeland  was  normally  to  be  ex- 
pected from  a  man  of  Maeterlinck's  depth  of  feel- 
ing. The  unexpected  thing  that  happened  not 
long  after  was  that  the  impulsive  promptings  of 
justice  and  patriotism  put  themselves  into  harmony 
with  the  guiding  principles  of  his  entire  moral 
evolution.  The  integrity  of  his  philosophy  of  life, 
the  sterling  honesty  of  his  teachings,  were  thus 
loyally  sealed  with  the  very  blood  of  his  heart. — 
"Before  closing  this  book,"  he  says  in  the  Epi- 

1  "The  Wrack  of  the  Storm,"  pp.  16-18. 

[6] 


Maurice  Maeterlinck 

logue,1  "I  wish  to  weigh  for  the  last  time  in  my 
conscience  the  words  of  hatred  and  malediction 
which  it  has  made  me  speak  in  spite  of  myself." 
And  then,  true  prophet  that  he  is,  he  speaks  forth 
as  a  voice  from  the  future,  admonishing  men  to 
prepare  for  the  time  when  the  war  is  over.  What 
saner  advice  could  at  this  critical  time  be  given 
the  stay-at-homes  than  that  they  should  follow 
the  example  of  the  men  who  return  from  the 
trenches?  "They  detest  the  enemy,"  says  he,  "but 
they  do  not  hate  the  man.  They  recognize  in  him 
a  brother  in  misfortune  who,  like  themselves,  is 
submitting  to  duties  and  laws  which,  like  them- 
selves, he  too  believes  lofty  and  necessary."  On 
the  other  hand,  too,  not  many  have  sensed  as 
deeply  as  has  Maeterlinck  the  grandeur  to  which 
humanity  has  risen  through  the  immeasurable 
pathos  of  the  war.  "Setting  aside  the  unpardon- 
able aggression  and  the  inexpiable  violation  of  the 
treaties,  this  war,  despite  its  insanity,  has  come 
near  to  being  a  bloody  but  magnificent  proof  of 
greatness,  heroism,  and  the  spirit  of  sacrifice." 
And  from  his  profound  anguish  over  the  fate  of 
his  beloved  Belgium  this  consolation  is  wrung: 

1  In  the  English  translation  this  is  the  chapter  preceding  the 
last  one  and  is  headed  "When  the  War  Is  Over,"  p.  293  ff. ;  it 
is  separately  published  in  The  Forum  for  July,  1916. 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

"If  it  be  true,  as  I  believe,  that  humanity  is  worth 
just  as  much  as  the  sum  total  of  latent  heroism 
which  it  contains,  then  we  may  declare  that  hu- 
manity was  never  stronger  nor  more  exemplary 
than  now  and  that  it  is  at  this  moment  reaching 
one  of  its  highest  points  and  capable  of  braving 
everything  and  hoping  everything.  And  it  is  for 
this  reason  that,  despite  our  present  sadness,  we 
are  entitled  to  congratulate  ourselves  and  to  re- 
joice." Altogether,  Maeterlinck's  thoughts  and 
actions  throughout  this  yet  unfinished  mighty  fate- 
drama  of  history  challenge  the  highest  respect  for 
the  clarity  of  his  intellect  and  the  profoundness  of 
his  humanity. 

The  appalling  disaster  that  has  befallen  the 
Belgian  people  is  sure  to  stamp  their  national  char- 
acter with  indelible  marks;  so  that  it  is  safe  to 
predict  that  never  again  will  the  type  of  civiliza- 
tion which  before  the  war  reigned  in  the  basins 
of  the  Meuse  and  the  Scheldt  reestablish  itself  in 
its  full  peculiarity  and  distinctiveness  which  was 
the  result  of  a  unique  coagency  of  Germanic  and 
Romanic  ingredients  of  culture.  Yet  in  the  amal- 
gam of  the  two  heterogeneous  elements  a  certain 
competitive  antithesis  had  survived,  and  mani- 
fested itself,  in  the  individual  as  in  the  national 

[8] 


Maurice  Maeterlinck 

life  at  large,  in  a  number  of  unreconciled  tempera- 
mental contrasts,  and  in  the  fundamental  unlike- 
ness  exhibited  in  the  material  and  the  spiritual  ac- 
tivities. Witness  the  contrast  between  the  bustling 
aggressiveness  in  the  province  of  practical  affairs 
and  the  metaphysical  drift  of  modern  Flemish  art. 
To  any  one  familiar  with  the  visible  materialism 
of  the  population  in  its  external  mode  of  living 
it  may  have  seemed  strange  to  notice  how  sedu- 
lously a  numerous  set  among  the  younger  artists 
of  the  land  were  facing  away  from  their  concrete 
environment,  as  though  to  their  over-sensitive 
nervous  system  it  were  irremediably  offensive. 
The  vigorous  solidity  of  Constantin  Meunier,  the 
great  plastic  interpreter  of  the  "Black  Country" 
of  Belgium,  found  but  few  wholehearted  imitators 
among  the  sculptors,  while  among  the  painters 
that  robust  terrestrialism  of  which  the  work  of  a 
Rubens  or  Teniers  and  their  countless  disciples 
was  the  artistic  upshot,  was  almost  totally  relin- 
quished, and  linear  firmness  and  colorful  vitality 
yielded  the  day  to  pallid,  discarnately  decorative 
artistry  even,  in  a  measure,  in  the  "applied  art" 
products  of  a  Henri  van  de  Velde. 

It  is  in  the  field  of  literature,  naturally  enough, 
that  the  contrast  is  resolved  and  integrated  into 

[9] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

a  characteristic  unity.  Very  recently  Professor 
A.  J.  Carnoy  has  definitely  pointed  out1  the 
striking  commixture  of  the  realistic  and  imagina- 
tive elements  in  the  work  of  the  Flemish  symbol- 
ists. "The  vision  of  the  Flemings" — quoting  from 
his  own  precis  of  his  paper — "is  very  concrete, 
very  exact  in  all  details  and  gives  a  durable,  real, 
and  almost  corporeal  presence  to  the  creations  of 
the  imagination.  All  these  traits  are  exhibited  in 
the  reveries  of  the  Flemish  mystics,  ancient  and 
modern.  One  finds  them  also  no  less  plainly  in 
the  poetic  work  of  Belgian  writers  of  the  last 
generation:  Maeterlinck,  Verhaeren,  Rodenbach, 
Van  Lerberghe,  Le  Roy,  Elskamp,  etc." 

If  we  take  into  account  this  composite  attitude 
of  the  Flemish  mind  we  shall  be  less  surprised  at 
the  remarkable  evolution  of  a  poet-philosopher 
whose  creations  seem  at  first  blush  to  bear  no  re- 
semblance to  the  outward  complexion  of  his  own 
age;  who  seems  as  far  removed  temperamentally 
from  his  locality  and  time  as  were  his  lineal  spirit- 
ual ancestors:  the  Dutchman  Ruysbroeck,  the 
Scandinavian  Swedenborg,  the  German  Novalis, 
and  the  American  Emerson — and  who  in  the 


1  In  a  paper  read  by  title  before  the  Modern  Language  Asso- 
ciation of  America  at  Yale  University,  December  29,  1917. 

[10] 


Maurice  Maeterlinck 

zenith  of  his  career  stands  forth  as  an  ardent  advo- 
cate of  practical  action  while  at  the  same  time  a 
firm  believer  in  the  transcendental. 

Maeterlinck's  romantic  antipathy  towards  the 
main  drift  of  the  age  was  a  phenomenon  which  at 
the  dawn  of  our  century  could  be  observed  in  a 
great  number  of  superior  intelligences.  Those 
fugitives  from  the  dun  and  sordid  materialism  of 
the  day  were  likely  to  choose  between  two  avenues 
of  escape,  according  to  their  greater  or  lesser 
inner  ruggedness.  The  more  aggressive  type 
would  engage  in  multiform  warfare  for  the  re- 
construction of  life  on  sounder  principles;  whereas 
the  more  meditative  professed  a  real  or  affected 
indifference  to  practical  things  and  eschewed  any 
participation  in  the  world's  struggle  for  progress. 
And  of  the  quiescent  rather  than  the  insurgent 
variety  of  the  romantic  temper  Maurice  Maeter- 
linck was  the  foremost  exponent. 

The  "romantic  longing"  seems  to  have  come 
into  the  world  in  the  company  of  the  Christian  re- 
ligion with  which  it  shares  its  partly  outspoken, 
partly  implied  repugnance  for  the  battle  of  life. 
Romantic  periods  occur  in  the  history  of  civiliza- 
tion whenever  a  sufficiently  influential  set  of  ar« 
tistically  minded  persons  have  persuaded  them* 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

selves  that,  in  quite  a  literal  sense  of  the  colloquial 
phrase,  they  "have  no  use"  for  the  world;  a  dis- 
covery which  would  still  be  true  were  it  stated 
obversely.  The  romantic  world-view,  thus  funda- 
mentally oriented  by  world-contempt,  entails,  at 
least  in  theory,  the  repudiation  of  all  earthly 
joys — notably  the  joy  of  working — and  the  re- 
nouncement of  all  worldly  ambition ;  it  scorns  the 
cooperative,  social  disposition,  invites  the  soul  to 
a  progressive  withdrawal  into  the  inner  ego,  and 
ends  in  complete  surrender  to  one  sole  aspiration : 
the  search  of  the  higher  vision,  the  vision,  that  is, 
of  things  beyond  their  tangible  reality.  To  such 
mystical  constructions  of  the  inner  eye  a  certain 
group  of  German  writers  who  flourished  in  the 
beginning  of  the  nineteenth  century  and  were 
known  as  the  Romantics,  darkly  groped  their  way 
out  of  the  confining  realities  of  their  own  time. 
The  most  modern  spell  of  romanticism,  the  one 
through  which  our  own  generation  was  but  yester- 
day passing,  measures  its  difference  from  any  pre- 
vious romantic  era  by  the  difference  between 
earlier  states  of  culture  and  our  own.  Life  with 
us  is  conspicuously  more  assertive  and  aggressive 
in  its  social  than  in  its  individual  expressions,  which 
was  by  no  means  always  so,  and  unless  the  ro- 

[12] 


Maurice  Maeterlinck 

mantle  predisposition  adapted  itself  to  this  impor- 
tant change  it  could  not  relate  itself  at  all  intimate- 
ly to  our  interests.  Our  study  of  Maeterlinck 
should  help  us,  therefore,  to  discover  possibly  in 
the  new  romantic  tendency  some  practical  and 
vital  bearings. 

We  find  that  in  the  new  romanticism  esthetic 
and  philosophical  impulses  are  inextricably  mixed. 
Hence  the  new  movement  is  also  playing  an  indis- 
pensable role  in  the  modern  re-foundation  of  art. 
For  while  acting  as  a  wholesome  offset  to  the  so- 
called  naturalism,  in  its  firm  refusal  to  limit  inner 

• 

life  to  the  superficial  realities,  it  at  the  same  time 
combines  with  naturalism  into  a  complete  recoil- 
ing, both  of  the  intellect  and  the  emotions,  from 
any  commonplace,  or  pusillanimous,  or  median!* 
cal  practices  of  artistry.  This  latter-day  romanti- 
cism, moreover,  notwithstanding  its  sky-aspiring 
outstretch,  is  akin  to  naturalism  in  that,  after  all, 
it  keeps  its  roots  firmly  grounded  in  the  earth; 
that  is  to  say,  it  seeks  for  its  ulterior  sanctions  not 
in  realms  high  beyond  the  self;  rather  it  looks 
within  for  the  "blue  flower"  of  contentedness.  Al- 
ready to  the  romantics  of  old  the  mystic  road  to 
happiness  was  not  unknown.  It  is,  for  instance, 
pointed  by  Novalis:  "Inward  leads  the  mysteri- 

[13] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

ous  way.  Within  us  or  nowhere  lies  eternity  with 
its  worlds;  within  us  or  nowhere  are  the  past  and 
the  future."  Viewed  separately  from  other  ele- 
ments of  romanticism,  this  passion  for  retreating 
within  the  central  ego  is  commonly  referred  to  as 
mysticism ;  it  has  a  strong  hold  on  many  among  the 
moderns,  and  Maurice  Maeterlinck  to  be  proper- 
ly understood  has  to  be  understood  as  the  poet  par 
excellence  of  modern  mysticism.  By  virtue  of  this 
special  office  he  deals  mainly  in  concepts  of  the 
transcendental,  which  puzzles  the  ordinary  person 
accustomed  to  perceive  only  material  and  ephem- 
eral realities.  Maeterlinck  holds  that  nothing 
matters  that  is  not  eternal  and  that  what  keeps  us 
from  enjoying  the  treasures  of  the  universe  is  the 
hereditary  resignation  with  which  we  tarry  in  the 
gloomy  prison  of  our  senses.  "In  reality,  we 
live  only  from  soul  to  soul,  and  we  are  gods  who 
do  not  know  each  other."  1  It  follows  from  this 
metaphysical  foundation  of  his  art  that  instead  of 
the  grosser  terminology  suitable  to  plain  realities, 
Maeterlinck  must  depend  upon  a  code  of  subtle 
messages  in  order  to  establish  between  himself 
and  his  audience  a  line  of  spiritual  communication. 
This  makes  it  somewhat  difficult  for  people  of 

1  Maeterlinck,  "On  Emerson." 

[H] 


Maurice  Maeterlinck 

cruder  endowment  to  appreciate  his  meaning,  a 
grievance  from  which  in  the  beginning  many  of 
them  sought  redress  in  facile  scoffing.  Obtuse 
minds  are  prone  to  claim  a  right  to  fathom  the 
profound  meanings  of  genius  with  the  same  ease 
with  which  they  expect  to  catch  the  meaning  of 
a  bill  of  fare  or  the  daily  stock  market  report. 


It  must  be  confessed,  however,  that  even  those 
to  whom  Maeterlinck's  sphere  of  thought  is  not 
so  utterly  sealed,  enter  it  with  a  sense  of  mixed 
perplexity  and  apprehension.  They  feel  them- 
selves helplessly  conducted  through  a  world  situ- 
ated beyond  the  confines  of  their  normal  conscious- 
ness, and  in  this  strange  world  everything  that 
comes  to  pass  appears  at  first  extremely  impracti- 
cable and  unreal.  The  action  seems  "wholly  dis- 
severed from  common  sense  and  ordinary  uses;" 
the  figures  behave  otherwise  than  humans;  the 
dialogue  is  "poised  on  the  edge  of  a  precipice  of 
bathos."  It  is  clear  that  works  so  far  out  of  the 
common  have  to  be  approached  from  the  poet's 
own  point  of  view.  "Let  the  reader  move  his 
standpoint  one  inch  nearer  the  popular  stand- 
point," thus  we  are  warned  by  Mr.  G.  K.  Chester- 
ton, "and  his  attitude  towards  the  poet  will  be 

[15] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

harsh,  hostile,  unconquerable  mirth."  There  are 
some  works  that  can  be  appreciated  for  their 
good  story,  even  if  we  fail  to  realize  the  author's 
moral  attitude,  let  alone  to  grasp  the  deeper  con- 
tent of  his  work.  "But  if  we  take  a  play  by  Mae- 
terlinck we  shall  find  that  unless  we  grasp  the  par- 
ticular fairy  thread  of  thought  the  poet  rather 
lazily  flings  to  us,  we  cannot  grasp  anything  what- 
ever. Except  from  one  extreme  poetic  point  of 
view,  the  thing  is  not  a  play;  it  is  not  a  bad  play, 
it  is  a  mass  of  clotted  nonsense.  One  whole  act 
describes  the  lovers  going  to  look  for  a  ring  in  a 
distant  cave  when  they  both  know  they  have 
dropped  it  down  the  well.  Seen  from  some  secret 
window  on  some  special  side  of  the  soul's  turret, 
this  might  convey  a  sense  of  faerie  futility  in  our 
human  life.  But  it  is  quite  obvious  that  unless  it 
called  forth  that  one  kind  of  sympathy,  it  would 
call  forth  nothing  but  laughter.  In  the  same  play, 
the  husband  chases  his  wife  with  a  drawn  sword, 
the  wife  remarking  at  intervals,  'I  am  not  gay.' 
Now  there  may  really  be  an  idea  in  this;  the  idea 
of  human  misfortune  coming  most  cruelly  upon  the 
opportunism  of  innocence ;  that  the  lonely  human 
heart  says,  like  a  child  at  a  party,  'I  am  not  en- 
joying myself  as  I  thought  I  should.'  But  it  is 

[16] 


Maurice  Maeterlinck 

plain  that  unless  one  thinks  of  this  idea,  and  of 
this  idea  only,  the  expression  is  not  in  the  least 
unsuccessful  pathos, — it  is  very  broad  and  highly 
successful  farce!" 

And  so  the  atmosphere  of  Maeterlinck's  plays 
is  impregnated  throughout  with  oppressive  mys- 
teries, and  until  the  key  of  these  mysteries  is  found 
there  is  very  little  meaning  to  the  plays.  More- 
over, these  mysteries,  be  they  never  so  stern  and 
awe-inspiring,  are  irresistibly  alluring.  The  rea- 
son is,  they  are  our  own  mysteries  that  have  some- 
how escaped  our  grasp,  and  that  we  fain  would 
recapture,  because  there  dwells  in  every  human 
breast  a  vague  assent  to  the  immortal  truth  of 
Goethe's  assertion:  "The  thrill  of  awe  is  man's 
best  heritage."  * 

The  imaginative  equipment  of  Maeterlinck's 
dramaturgy  is  rather  limited  and,  on  its  face  value, 
trite.  In  particular  are  his  dramatis  personae 
creatures  by  no  means  calculated  to  overawe  by 
some  extraordinary  weirdness  or  power.  And  yet 
we  feel  ourselves  touched  by  an  elemental  dread 
and  by  an  overwhelming  sense  of  our  human  impo- 
tence in  the  presence  of  these  figures  who,  without 
seeming  supernatural,  are  certainly  not  of  common 

Schaudern  ist  der  Menschheit  bestes  Teil," 
[17] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

flesh  and  blood;  they  impress  us  as  surpassingly 
strange  mainly  because  somehow  they  are  instinct 
with  a  life  fundamentally  more  real  than  the  super- 
ficial reality  we  know.  For  they  are  the  mediums 
and  oracles  of  the  fateful  powers  that  stir  human 
beings  into  action. 

The  poet  of  mysticism,  then,  delves  into  the 
mystic  sources  of  our  deeds,  and  makes  us  stand 
reverent  with  him  before  the  unknowable  forces 
by  which  we  are  controlled.  Naturally  he  is 
obliged  to  shape  his  visions  in  dim  outline.  His 
aim  is  to  shadow  forth  that  which  no  naked  eye 
can  see,  and  it  may  be  said  in  passing  that  he  at- 
tains this  aim  with  a  mastery  and  completeness 
incomparably  beyond  the  dubious  skill  displayed 
more  recently  by  the  grotesque  gropings  of  the  so- 
called  futurist  school.  Perhaps  one  true  secret  of 
the  perturbing  strangeness  of  Maeterlinck's  figures 
lies  in  the  fact  that  the  basic  principle  of  their  life, 
the  one  thoroughly  vital  element  in  them,  if  it  does 
not  sound  too  paradoxical  to  say  so,  is  the  idea  of 
death.  Maeterlinck's  mood  and  temper  are  fully 
in  keeping  with  the  religious  dogma  that  life  is  but 
a  short  dream — with  Goethe  he  believes  that  "all 
things  transitory  but  as  symbols  are  sent,"  and 
apparently  concurs  in  the  creed  voiced  by  one  of 
[18] 


Maurice  Maeterlinck 

Arthur  Schnitzler's  characters, — that  death  is  the 
only  subject  in  life  worthy  of  being  pondered  by 
the  serious  mind.  "From  our  death  onwards," 
so  he  puts  it  somewhere,  "the  adventure  of  the 
universe  becomes  our  own  adventure." 


It  will  be  useful  to  have  a  bit  of  personal  infor- 
mation concerning  our  author.  He  started  his 
active  career  as  a  barrister;  not  by  any  means  aus- 
piciously, it  seems,  for  already  in  his  twenty- 
seventh  year  he  laid  the  toga  aside.  Experience 
had  convinced  him  that  in  the  forum  there  were 
no  laurels  for  him  to  pluck.  The  specific  qualities 
that  make  for  success  at  the  bar  were  conspicu- 
ously lacking  in  his  make-up.  Far  from  being  elo- 
quent, he  has  at  all  times  been  noted  for  an  un- 
paralleled proficiency  in  the  art  of  self-defensive 
silence.  He  shuns  banal  conversation  and  the 
sterile  distractions  of  promiscuous  social  inter- 
course, dreads  the  hubbub  of  the  city,  and  has  an 
intense  dislike  for  travel,  to  which  he  resorts  only 
as  a  last  means  of  escape  from  interviewers,  re- 
porters, and  admirers.  Maeterlinck,  it  is  seen,  is 
anything  but  multorum  vir  hominum.  In  order  to 
preserve  intact  his  love  of  humanity,  he  finds  it 
expedient  to  live  for  the  most  part  by  himself, 

[19] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

away  from  the  throng  "whose  very  plaudits  give 
the  heart  a  pang;"  his  fame  has  always  been  a 
source  of  annoyance  to  him.  The  only  company 
he  covets  is  that  of  the  contemplative  thinkers  of 
bygone  days, — the  mystics,  gnostics,  cabalists,  neo- 
Platonists.  Swedenborg  and  Plotinus  are  perhaps 
his  greatest  favorites.  That  the  war  has  pro- 
duced a  mighty  agitation  in  the  habitual  calm  of 
the  great  Belgian  poet-philosopher  goes  without 
saying.  His  love  of  justice  no  less  than  his  love  of 
his  country  aroused  every  red  corpuscle  in  his 
virile  personality  to  violent  resentment  against  the 
invader.  Since  the  war  broke  out,  however,  he 
has  published  nothing  besides  a  number  of  ring- 
ingly  eloquent  and  singularly  pathetic  articles  and 
appeals, — so  that  the  character  portrait  derived 
from  the  body  of  his  work  has  not  at  this  time 
lost  its  application  to  his  personality. 

In  cast  of  mind,  Maeterlinck  is  sombrously 
meditative,  and  he  has  been  wise  in  framing  his 
outer  existence  so  that  it  would  accord  with  his 
habitual  detachment.  The  greater  part  of  his 
time  used  to  be  divided  between  his  charming  re- 
treat at  Quatre  Chemins,  near  Grasse,  and  the 
grand  old  abbey  of  St.  Wandrille  in  Normandy, 
which  he  managed  to  snatch  in  the  very  nick  of 

[20] 


Maurice  Maeterlinck 

time  from  the  tightening  clutch  of  a  manufacturing 
concern.  With  the  temperament  of  a  hermit,  he 
has  been,  nevertheless,  a  keen  observer  of  life, 
though  one  preferring  to  watch  the  motley  spec- 
tacle from  the  aristocratic  privacy  of  his  box, 
sheltered,  as  it  were,  from  prying  curiosity.  Well 
on  in  middle  age,  he  is  still  an  enthusiastic  out-of- 
doors  man, — gardener,  naturalist,  pedestrian, 
wheelman,  and  motorist,  and  commands  an  ex- 
traordinary amount  of  special  knowledge  in  a  va- 
riety of  sports  and  sciences.  In  "The  Double  Gar- 
den" he  discusses  the  automobile  with  the  author- 
ity of  an  expert  watt-man  and  mechanician.  In 
one  of  his  other  books  he  evinces  an  extraordinary 
erudition  in  all  matters  pertaining  to  the  higher 
education  of  dogs;  and  his  work  on  "The  Life  of 
the  Bee"  passes  him  beyond  question  with  high 
rank  among  "thirty-third  degree"  apiculturists. 

One  of  the  characteristics  that  seem  to  separate 
his  books,  especially  those  of  the  earlier  period, 
from  the  literary  tendencies  of  his  age,  is  their 
surprising  inattention  to  present  social  struggles. 
His  metaphysical  bias  makes  him  dwell  almost  ex- 
clusively, and  with  great  moral  and  logical  con- 
sistency, on  aspects  of  life  that  are  slightly  con- 

[21] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

sidered  by  the  majority  of  men  yet  which  he  re- 
gards as  ulteriorly  of  sole  importance. 

When  men  like  Maeterlinck  are  encountered  in 
the  world  of  practical  affairs,  they  are  bound  to 
impress  us  as  odd,  because  of  this  inversion  of  the 
ordinary  policies  of  behavior.  But  before  class- 
ing them  as  "cranks,"  we  might  well  ask  ourselves 
whether  their  appraisal  of  the  component  values 
of  life  does  not,  after  all,  correspond  better  to 
their  true  relativity  than  does  our  own  habitual 
evaluation.  With  the  average  social  being,  the 
transcendental  bearing  of  a  proposition  is  synony- 
mous with  its  practical  unimportance.  But  in  his 
essay  on  "The  Invisible  Goodness"  Maeterlinck 
quite  properly  raises  the  question:  "Is  visible  life 
alone  of  consequence,  and  are  we  made  up  only  of 
things  that  can  be  grasped  and  handled  like  peb- 
bles in  the  road?" 

Throughout  his  career  Maeterlinck  reveals  him- 
self in  the  double  aspect  of  poet  and  philosopher. 
In  the  first  period  his  philosophy,  as  has  alre  .dy 
been  amply  hinted,  is  characterized  chiefly  by  aver- 
sion from  the  externalities  of  life,  and  by  that 
tense  introversion  of  the  mind  which  forms  the 
mystic's  main  avenue  to  the  goal  of  knowledge. 
But  if,  in  order  to  find  the  key  to  his  tragedies  and 
[22] 


Maurice  Maeterlinck 

puppet  plays,  we  go  to  the  thirteen  essays  repre- 
senting the  earlier  trend  of  his  philosophy  and  is- 
sued in  1896  under  the  collective  title,  "The 
Treasure  of  the  Humble,"  we  discover  easily  that 
his  cast  of  mysticism  is  very  different  from  that  of 
his  philosophic  predecessors  and  teachers  in  the 
fourteenth  and  nineteenth  centuries,  in  particular 
from  the  devotional  mysticism  of  the  "Admirable" 
John  Ruysbroeck,  and  Friedrich  von  Hardenberg- 
Novalis.  Maeterlinck  does  not  strive  after  the  so- 
called  "spiritual  espousals,"  expounded  by  the 
"doctor  ecstaticus,"  Ruysbroeck,  in  his  celebrated 
treatise  where  Christ  is  symbolized  as  the  divine 
groom  and  Human  Nature  as  the  bride  glowing 
with  desire  for  union  with  God.  Maeterlinck 
feels  too  modernly  to  make  use  of  that  ancient 
sensuous  imagery.  The  main  thesis  of  his  mysti- 
cal belief  is  that  there  are  divine  forces  dormant 
in  human  nature ;  how  to  arouse  and  release  them, 
constitutes  the  paramount  problem  of  human  life. 
His  doctrine  is  that  a  life  not  thus  energized  by  its 
own  latent  divineness  is,  and  must  remain,  hum- 
drum and  worthless.  It  will  at  once  be  noticed 
that  such  a  doctrine  harmonizes  thoroughly  with 
the  romantic  aspiration.  Both  mystic  and  ro- 
mantic teach  that,  in  the  last  resort,  the  battlefield 

[23] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

of  our  fate  lies  not  out  in  the  wide  world  but  that 
it  is  enclosed  in  the  inner  self,  within  the  unknown 
quantity  which  we  designate  as  our  soul.  The  visi- 
ble life,  according  to  this  modern  prophet  of  mys- 
ticism, obeys  the  invisible ;  happiness  and  unhappi- 
ness  flow  exclusively  from  the  inner  sources. 

Maeterlinck's  speculations,  despite  their  medie- 
val provenience,  have  a  practical  orientation.  He 
firmly  believes  that  it  is  within  the  ability  of  man- 
kind to  raise  some  of  the  veils  that  cover  life's  cen- 
tral secret.  In  unison  with  some  other  charitable 
students  of  society,  he  holds  to  the  faith  that  a 
more  highly  spiritualized  era  is  dawning,  and  from 
the  observed  indications  he  prognosticates  a  wider 
awakening  of  the  sleepbound  soul  of  man.  And 
certainly  some  of  the  social  manifestations  that 
appeared  with  cumulative  force  during  the  con- 
structive period  before  the  war  were  calculated  to 
justify  that  faith.  The  revival  of  interest  in  the 
metaphysical  powers  of  man  which  expressed  it- 
self almost  epidemically  through  such  widely  di- 
vergent cults  as  Theosophy  and  Christian  Science, 
was  indubitable  proof  of  spiritual  yearnings  in  the 
broader  masses  of  the  people.  And  it  had  a  prac- 
tical counterpart  in  civic  tendencies  and  reforms 
that  evidenced  a  great  agitation  of  the  social  cori- 
[24] 


Maurice  Maeterlinck 

science.  And  even  to-day,  when  the  great  major- 
ity feel  that  the  universal  embroilment  has  caused 
civilized  man  to  fall  from  his  laboriously  achieved 
level,  this  sage  in  his  lofty  solitude  feels  the  re- 
deeming spiritual  connotation  of  our  great  calam- 
ity. "Humanity  was  ready  to  rise  above  itself, 
to  surpass  all  that  it  had  hitherto  accomplished. 
It  has  surpassed  it.  ...  Never  before  had  na- 
tions been  seen  that  were  able  as  a  whole  to  under- 
stand that  the  happiness  of  each  of  those  who  live 
in  this  time  of  trial  is  of  no  consequence  compared 
with  the  honor  of  those  who  live  no  more  or  the 
happiness  of  those  who  are  not  yet  alive.  We  stand 
on  heights  that  had  not  been  attained  before." 

But  even  for  those  many  who  find  themselves 
unable  to  build  very  large  hopes  on  the  spiritual 
uplift  of  mankind  through  disaster,  Maeter- 
linck's philosophy  is  a  wholesome  tonic.  In  the 
essay  on  "The  Life  Profound"  in  "The  Treasure 
of  the  Humble,"  we  are  told:  "Every  man  must 
find  for  himself  in  the  low  and  unavoidable  reality 
of  common  life  his  special  possibility  of  a  higher 
existence."  The  injunction,  trite  though  it  sound, 
articulates  a  moral  very  far  from  philistine.  For 
it  urges  the  pursuit  of  the  transcendental  self 
through  those  feelings  which  another  very  great 

[25] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

idealist,  Friedrich  Schiller,  describes  in  magnificent 
metaphor  as 

.   .   .   "der  dunklen  Gefiihle  Gewalt, 
die  im  Herzen  wunderbar  schliefen." 

In  the  labyrinth  of  the  subliminal  consciousness 
there  lurks,  however,  a  great  danger  for  the  seek- 
er after  the  hidden  treasures:  the  paralyzing  ef- 
fect of  fatalism  upon  the  normal  energies.  Mae- 
terlinck was  seriously  threatened  by  this  danger 
during  his  earlier  period.  How  he  eventually 
contrived  his  liberation  from  the  clutch  of  fatal- 
ism is  not  made  entirely  clear  by  the  progress  of 
his  thought.  At  all  events,  an  era  of  greater  in- 
tellectual freedom,  which  ultimately  was  to  cre- 
ate him  the  undisputed  captain  of  his  soul  and 
master  of  his  fate,  was  soon  to  arrive  for  him.  It 
is  heralded  by  another  book  of  essays:  "Wisdom 
and  Destiny."  But,  as  has  been  stated,  we  may 
in  his  case  hardly  hope  to  trace  the  precise  route 
traveled  by  the  mind  between  the  points  of  de- 
parture and  arrival. 


So  closely  are  the  vital  convictions  in  this  truth- 
ful writer  linked  with  the  artistic  traits  of  his  work 
that  without  some  grasp  of  his  metaphysics  even 
the  technical  peculiarities  of  his  plays  cannot  be 

[26] 


Maurice  Maeterlinck 

fully  appreciated.  To  the  mystic  temper  of  mind, 
all  life  is  secretly  pregnant  with  great  meaning, 
so  that  none  of  its  phenomena  can  be  deemed  in- 
consequential. Thus,  while  Maeterlinck  is  a  poet 
greatly  preoccupied  with  spiritual  matters  yet 
nothing  to  him  is  more  wonderful  and  worthy  of 
attention  than  the  bare  facts  and  processes  of 
living.  Real  life,  just  like  the  theatre  which 
purports  to  represent  it,  manipulates  a  multiform 
assortment  of  stage  effects,  now  coarse  and  obvi- 
ous and  claptrap,  now  refined  and  esoteric,  to  suit 
the  diversified  taste  and  capacity  of  the  patrons. 
To  the  cultured  esthetic  sense  the  tragical  tendency 
carries  more  meaning  than  the  catastrophic  finale; 
our  author  accordingly  scorns,  and  perhaps  inordi- 
nately, 'whatsoever  may  appear  as  merely  adventi- 
tious in  the  action  of  plays.  "What  can  be  told," 
he  exclaims,  "by  beings  who  are  possessed  of  a 
fixed  idea  and  have  no  time  to  live  because  they 
have  to  kill  off  a  rival  or  a  mistress?"  The  inter- 
nalized action  in  his  plays  is  all  of  one  piece  with 
the  profound  philosophical  conviction  that  the 
inner  life  alone  matters;  that  consequently  the 
small  and  unnoticed  events  are  more  worthy  of  at- 
tention than  the  sensational,  cataclysmic  moments. 
"Why  wait  ye,"  he  asks  in  that  wonderful  rhap- 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

sody  on  "Silence"  l  "for  Heaven  to  open  at  the 
strike  of  the  thunderbolt?  Ye  should  attend  upon 
the  blessed  hours  when  it  silently  opens — and  it  is 
incessantly  opening." 

His  purpose,  then,  is  to  reveal  the  working  of 
hidden  forces  in  their  intricate  and  inseparable 
connection  with  external  events ;  and  in  order  that 
the  vie  interieure  might  have  the  right  of  way, 
drama  in  his  practice  emancipates  itself  very  far 
from  the  traditional  realistic  methods.  "Poetry," 
he  maintains,  "has  no  other  purpose  than  to  keep 
open  the  great  roads  that  lead  from  the  visible 
to  the  invisible."  To  be  sure,  this  definition  postu- 
lates, rather  audaciously,  a  widespread  spiritual 
susceptibility.  But  in  Maeterlinck's  optimistic 
anthropology  no  human  being  is  spiritually  so 
deadened  as  to  be  forever  out  of  all  communica- 
tion with  the  things  that  are  divine  and  infinite. 
He  fully  realizes,  withal,  that  for  the  great  mass 
of  men  there  exists  no  intellectual  approach  to 
the  truly  significant  problems  of  life.  It  is  rather 
through  our  emotional  capacity  that  our  spiritual 
experience  brings  us  into  touch  with  the  final  veri- 
ties. Anyway,  the  poet  of  mysticism  appeals  from 
the  impasse  of  pure  reasoning  to  the  voice  of  the 

1  "The  Treasure  of  the  Humble." 
[28] 


Maurice  Maeterlinck 

inner  oracles.  But  how  to  detect  in  the  deepest 
recesses  of  the  soul  the  echoes  of  universal  life 
and  give  outward  resonance  to  their  faint  rever- 
berations? That  is  the  artistic,  and  largely  tech- 
nical, side  of  the  problem. 

Obvious  it  is  that  if  the  beholder's  collabora- 
tion in  the  difficult  enterprise  is  to  be  secured,  his 
imagination  has  to  be  stirred  to  a  super-normal 
degree.  Once  a  dramatist  has  succeeded  in  stimu- 
lating the  imaginative  activity,  he  can  dispense 
with  a  mass  of  descriptive  detail.  But  he  must 
comply  with  two  irremissible  technical  demands. 
In  the  first  place,  the  "vie  interieure"  calls  forth 
a  dialogue  interieur;  an  esoteric  language,  I  would 
say,  contrived  predominantly  for  the  "expres- 
sional"  functions  of  speech,  as  differenced  from  its 
"impressional"  purposes.  Under  Swedenborg's 
fanciful  theory  of  "correspondences"  the  literal 
meaning  of  a  word  is  merely  a  sort  of  protective 
husk  for  its  secret  spiritual  kernel.  It  is  this  in- 
ner, essential  meaning  that  Maeterlinck's  dialogue 
attempts  to  set  free.  By  a  fairly  simple  and  con- 
sistent code  of  intimations  the  underlying  mean- 
ing of  the  colloquy  is  laid  bare  and  a  basis  cre- 
ated for  a  more  fundamental  understanding  of  the 
dramatic  transactions.  Maeterlinck  going,  at  first, 

[29] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

to  undue  lengths  in  this  endeavor,  exposed  the  dic- 
tion of  his  dramas  to  much  cheap  ridicule.  The 
extravagant  use  of  repetition,  in  particular,  made 
him  a  mark  for  facile  burlesque.  The  words  of 
the  Queen  in  Princesse  Maleine:  "Mais  ne  repetez 
pas  toujours  ce  que  I'on  dit,"  were  sarcastically 
turned  against  the  poet  himself. 

As  a  result  of  the  extreme  simplicity  of  his  dia- 
logue, Maeterlinck  was  reproached  with  having 
invented  the  "monosyllabic  theatre,"  the  "the- 
atre without  words,"  and  with  having  perpe- 
trated a  surrogate  sort  of  drama,  a  hybrid  be- 
tween libretto  and  pantomime. 

The  fact,  however,  is,  his  characters  speak  a 
language  which,  far  from  being  absurd,  as  it  was 
at  first  thought  to  be  by  many  of  his  readers,  is 
instinct  with  life  and  quite  true  to  life — to  life, 
that  is,  as  made  articulate  in  the  intense  privacy  of 
dreams,  or  hallucinations,  or  moments  of  excessive 
emotional  perturbation. 

The  other  principal  requisite  for  the  attainment 
of  the  inner  dramatic  vitalness  in  drama  is  a  per- 
vasive atmospheric  mood,  a  sustained  Stimmuna. 
This,  in  the  case  of  Maeterlinck,  is  brought  about 
by  the  combined  employment  of  familiar  and 
original  artistic  devices. 

[30] 


Maurice  Maeterlinck 

The  grave  and  melancholy  mood  that  so  deeply 
impregnates  the  work  of  Maeterlinck  is  tinged  in 
the  earlier  stage,  as  has  been  pointed  out,  with  the 
sombre  coloring  of  fatalism.  In  the  first  few 
books,  in  particular,  there  hovers  a  brooding  sense 
of  terror  and  an  undefinable  feeling  of  desolation. 
Through  Serres  Chaudes  ("Hot  Houses"),  his 
first  published  book,  (1889),  there  runs  a  tenor 
of  weariness,  of  ideal  yearnings  overshadowed  by 
the  hopelessness  of  circumstances.  Even  in  this 
collection  of  poems,  where  so  much  less  necessity 
exists  for  a  unity  of  mood  than  in  the  plays,  Mae- 
terlinck's predilection  for  scenic  effects  suggestive 
of  weirdness  and  superstitious  fear  became  appar- 
ent in  the  recurrent  choice  of  sombre  scenic  motifs : 
oppressive  nocturnal  silence, — a  stagnant  sheet  of 
water, — moonlight  filtered  through  green  win- 
dows, etc.  The  diction,  too,  through  the  inces- 
sant use  of  terms  like  morne,  las,  pale,  desire, 
ennui,  tiede,  indolent,  malade,  exhales  as  it  were  a 
lazy  resignation.  Temporarily,  then,  the  fatal- 
istic strain  is  uppermost  both  in  the  philosophy 
and  the  poetry  of  the  rising  young  author;  and 
to  make  matters  worse,  his  is  the  fatalism  of  pessi- 
mistic despair:  Fate  is  forsworn  against  man. 
The  objective  point  of  life  is  death.  We  con- 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

stantly  receive  warnings  from  within,  but  the 
voices  are  not  unequivocal  and  emphatic  enough  to 
save  us  from  ourselves. 

Probing  the  abysses  of  his  subliminal  self,  the 
mystic  may  sense,  along  with  the  diviner  prompt- 
ings of  the  heart,  the  lurking  demons  that  under- 
mine happiness, — "the  malignant  powers," — again 
quoting  Schiller — "whom  no  man's  craft  can  make 
familiar" — that  element  in  human  nature  which 
in  truth  makes  man  "his  own  worst  enemy."  It 
is  a  search  which  at  this  stage  of  his  development 
Ma-eterlinck,  as  a  mystic,  cannot  bring  himself  to 
relinquish,  even  though,  pessimistically,  he  antici- 
pates that  which  he  most  dreads  to  find;  in  this 
way,  fatalism  and  pessimism  act  as  insuperable 
barriers  against  his  artistic  self-assertion.  His 
fixed  frame  of  mind  confines  him  to  the  representa- 
tion of  but  one  elemental  instinct,  namely,  that  of 
fear.  The  rustic  in  the  German  fairy  tale  who 
sallied  forth  to  learn  how  to  shudder, — gruseln, — 
would  have  mastered  the  art  to  his  complete  satis- 
faction if  favored  with  a  performance  or  two  of 
such  plays  as  "Princess  Maleine,"  "The  Intruder," 
or  "The  Sightless."  Perhaps  no  other  dramatist 
has  ever  commanded  a  similarly  well-equipped  ar- 
senal of  thrills  and  terrible  foreshadowings.  The 

[32] 


Maurice  Maeterlinck 

commonest  objects  are  fraught  with  ominous  fore- 
bodings :  a  white  gown  lying  on  a  prie-dieu,  a  cur- 
tain suddenly  set  swaying  by  a  puff  of  air,  the  mel- 
ancholy soughing  of  a  clump  of  trees, — the  sim- 
plest articles  of  daily  use  are  converted  into  awful 
symbols  that  make  us  shiver  by  their  whisperings 
of  impending  doom. 

Nor  in  the  earlier  products  of  Maeterlinck  are 
the  cruder  practices  of  melodrama  scorned  or 
spared, — the  crash  and  flash  of  thunder  and  light- 
ning, the  clang  of  bells  and  clatter  of  chains,  the 
livid  light  and  ghastly  shadows,  the  howling  hurri- 
cane, the  ominous  croaking  of  ravens  amid  noctur- 
nal solitude,  trees  illumined  by  the  fiery  eyes  of 
owls,  bats  whirring  portentously  through  the 
gloom, — so  many  harbingers  of  dread  and  death. 
And  the  prophetic  import  of  these  tokens  and  their 
sort  is  reinforced  by  repeated  assertions  from  the 
persons  in  the  action  that  never  before  has  any- 
thing like  this  been  known  to  occur.  To  such  a 
fearsome  state  are  we  wrought  up  by  all  this  un- 
canny apparatus  that  at  the  critical  moment  a  well 
calculated  knock  at  the  door  is  sufficient  to  make 
our  flesh  creep  and  our  hair  stand  on  end. 

Thus,  the  vie  interieure  would  seem  to  prere- 
quire  for  its  externalization  a  completely  furnished 

[33] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

chamber  of  horrors.     And  when  it  is  added  that 
the  scene  of  the  action  is  by  preference  a  lonely 
churchyard  or  a  haunted  old  mansion,  a  crypt,  a 
cavern,  a  silent  forest  or  a  solitary  tower,  it  is 
easy  to  understand  why  plays  like  "Princess  Ma- 
leine"  could  be  classed  by  superficial  and  unfriend- 
ly critics  with  the  gruesome  ebullitions  of  that 
fantastic   quasi-literary   occupation   to   which  we 
owe  a  well  known  variety  of  "water-front"  drama 
and,  in  fiction,  the  "shilling  shocker."     Their  im- 
measurably greater  psychological  refinement  could 
not  save  them  later  on  from  condemnation  at  the 
hands  of  their  own  maker.    And  yet  they  are  not 
without  very  great  artistic  merits.     Octave  Mir- 
beau,  in  his  habitual  enthusiasm  for  the  out-of-the- 
ordinary,  hailed  Maeterlinck,  on  the  strength  of 
"Princess  Maleine,"  as  the  Belgian  Shakespeare, 
evidently  because  Maeterlinck  derived  some  of  his 
motifs  from   "Hamlet" :  mainly  the  churchyard 
scene,  and  Prince  Hjalmar's  defiance  of  the  queen, 
as  well  as  his  general  want  of  decision.    As  a  mat- 
ter of  fact,  Maeterlinck  has  profoundly  studied, 
not  Shakespeare  alone,  but  the  minor  Elizabeth- 
ans as  well.     He  has  made  an  admirable  transla- 
tion of  "Macbeth."    Early  in  his  career  he  even 
translated  one  of  John  Ford's  Plays,  "  'Tis  Pity 

[34] 


Maurice  Maeterlinck 

She's  a  Whore,"  one  of  the  coarsest  works  ever 
written  for  the  stage,  but  to  which  he  was  attract- 
ed by  the  intrinsic  human  interest  that  far  out- 
weighs its  offensiveness.  As  for  any  real  kinship 
of  Maeterlinck  with  Shakespeare,  the  resemblance 
between  the  two  is  slight.  They  differ  philosophic- 
ally in  the  fundamental  frame  of  mind,  ethically 
in  the  outlook  upon  life,  dramaturgically  in  the 
value  attached  to  external  action,  and  humanly, — 
much  to  the  disadvantage  of  the  Belgian, — in  their 
sense  of  humor.  For  unfortunately  it  has  to  be 
confessed  that  this  supreme  gift  of  the  gods  has 
been  very  sparingly  dispensed  to  Maeterlinck.  Al- 
together, whether  or  no  he  is  to  be  counted  among 
the  disciples  of  Shakespeare,  his  works  show  no 
great  dependence  on  the  master.  With  far  better 
reason  might  he  be  called  a  debtor  to  Germanic 
folklore,  especially  in  its  fantastic  elements. 

A  German  fairy  world  it  is  to  which  we  are 
transported  by  Maeterlinck's  first  dramatic  at- 
tempt, "Princess  Maleine,"  (1889),  a  play  re- 
fashioned after  Grimm's  tale  of  the  Maid  Maleen; 
only  that  in  the  play  all  the  principals  come  to  a 
harrowing  end  and  that  in  it  an  esoteric  meaning 
lies  concealed  underneath  the  primitive  plot.  The 
action,  symbolically  interpreted,  illustrates  the  fa- 
[351 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

talist's  doctrine  that  man  is  nothing  but  a  toy  in 
the  hands  of  dark  and  dangerous  powers.  Prac- 
tical wisdom  does  not  help  us  to  discern  the  work- 
ing of  these  powers  until  it  is  too  late.  Neither 
can  we  divine  their  presence,  for  the  prophetic  ap- 
prehension of  the  future  resides  not  in  the  expert 
and  proficient,  but  rather  in  the  helpless  or  de- 
crepit,— the  blind,  the  feeble-minded,  and  the 
stricken  in  years,  or  again  in  young  children  and  in 
dumb  animals.  Take  the  scene  in  "Princess  Ma- 
leine"  where  the  murderers,  having  invaded  the 
chamber,  lie  there  in  wait,  with  bated  breath.  In 
the  corridor  outside,  people  are  unconcernedly 
passing  to  and  fro,  while  the  only  creatures  who, 
intuitively,  sense  the  danger,  are  the  little  Prince 
and  a  dog  that  keeps  anxiously  scraping  at  the 
door. 

InL'Intruse  ("The  Intruder"),  (1890),  a  one- 
act  play  on  a  theme  which  is  collaterally  developed 
later  on  in  Les  Aveugles  ("The  Sightless"),  and 
in  L'Interieur  ("Home"),  the  arriving  disaster 
that  cannot  be  shut  out  by  bolts  or  bars  announces 
itself  only  to  the  clairvoyant  sense  of  a  blind  old 
man.  The  household  gathered  around  the  table  is 
placidly  waiting  for  the  doctor.  Only  the  blind 
grandfather  is  anxious  and  heavy-laden  because  he 
[36] 


Maurice  Maeterlinck 

alone  knows  that  Death  is  entering  the  house,  he 
alone  can  feel  his  daughter's  life  withering  away 
under  the  breath  of  the  King  of  Terror:  the  sight- 
less have  a  keener  sensitiveness  than  the  seeing 
for  what  is  screened  from  the  physical  eye. 

It  would  hardly  be  possible  to  name  within  the 
whole  range  of  dramatic  literature  another  work 
so  thoroughly  pervaded  with  the  chilling  horror 
of  approaching  calamity.  The  talk  at  the  table  is 
of  the  most  commonplace, — that  the  door  will  not 
shut  properly,  and  they  must  send  for  the  car- 
penter to-morrow.  But  from  the  mechanism  of 
the  environment  there  comes  cumulative  and  incre- 
mental warning  that  something  extraordinary  and 
fatal  is  about  to  happen.  The  wind  rises,  the 
trees  shiver,  the  nightingales  break  off  their  sing- 
ing, the  fishes  in  the  pond  grow  restive,  the  dogs 
cower  in  fear, — an  unseen  Presence  walks  through 
the  garden.  Then  the  clanging  of  a  scythe  is 
heard.  A  cold  current  of  air  rushes  into  the  room. 
Nearer  and  nearer  come  the  steps.  The  grand- 
father insists  that  a  stranger  has  seated  himself 
in  the  midst  of  the  family.  The  lamp  goes  out. 
The  bell  strikes  midnight.  The  old  man  is  sure 
that  somebody  is  rising  from  the  table.  Then 
suddenly  the  baby  whose  voice  has  never  been 

[37] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

heard  starts  crying.  Through  an  inner  door  steps 
a  deaconess  silently  crossing  herself:  the  mother 
of  the  house  is  dead. 

These  incidents  in  themselves  are  not  neces- 
sarily miraculous.  There  are  none  of  them  but 
might  be  accounted  for  on  perfectly  natural 
grounds.  In  fact,  very  plausible  explanations  do 
offer  themselves  for  the  weirdest  things  that  come 
to  pass.  So,  especially,  it  was  a  real,  ordinary 
mower  that  chanced  to  whet  his  scythe;  yet  the 
apparition  of  the  Old  Reaper  in  person  could  not 
cause  the  chilling  consternation  produced  by  this 
trivial  circumstance  coming  as  it  does  as  the  climax 
of  a  succession  of  commonplace  happenings  ex- 
aggerated and  distorted  by  a  fear-haunted  im- 
agination. To  produce  an  effect  like  that  upon 
an  audience  whose  credulity  refuses  to  be  put  to 
any  undue  strain  is  a  victorious  proof  of  prime 
artistic  ability. 

Les  Aveugles  ("The  Sightless"),  (1891),  is 
pitched  in  the  same  psychological  key.  The  atmos- 
phere is  surcharged  with  unearthly  apprehen- 
sion. A  dreary  twilight — in  the  midst  of  a 
thick  forest — on  a  lonely  island;  twelve  blind 
people  fretting  about  the  absence  of  their  guar- 
dian. He  is  gone  to  find  a  way  out  of  the 
[38] 


Maurice  Maeterlinck 

woods — what  can  have  become  of  him?  From 
moment  to  moment  the  deserted,  helpless  band 
grows  more  fearstricken.  The  slightest  sound  be- 
comes the  carrier  of  evil  forebodings:  the  rus- 
tling of  the  foliage,  the  flapping  of  a  bird's  wings, 
the  swelling  roar  of  the  nearby  sea  in  its  dash 
against  the  shore.  The  bell  strikes  twelve — they 
wonder  is  it  noon  or  night?  Then  questions,  eager 
and  calamitous,  pass  in  whispers  among  them: 
Has  the  leader  lost  his  way?  Will  he  never  come 
back?  Has  the  dam  burst  apart  and  will  they  all 
be  swallowed  by  the  ocean?  The  pathos  is  greatly 
heightened  by  an  extremely  delicate  yet  sure  indi- 
viduation  of  the  figures,  as  when  at  the  mention  of 
Heaven  those  not  sightless  from  birth  raise  their 
countenance  to  the  sky.  And  where  in  the  mean- 
while is  the  lost  leader?  He  is  seated  right  in  their 
midst,  but  smitten  by  death.  They  learn  it  at  last 
through  the  actions  of  the  dog;  besides  whom — in 
striking  parallel  to  "Princess  Maleine" — the  only 
other  creature  able  to  see  is  a  little  child.  The  hor- 
ror-stricken unfortunates  realize  that  they  can 
never  get  home,  and  that  they  must  perish  in  the 
woods. 

In   Les   Sept   Princesses    ("The    Seven    Prin- 
cesses"),  (1891),  although  it  is  one  of  Maeter- 

[39] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

Hack's  minor  achievements,  some  of  the  qualities 
that  are  common  to  all  his  work  become  peculiarly 
manifest.  This  is  particularly  true  of  the  skill 
shown  in  conveying  the  feeling  of  the  story  by 
means  of  suitable  scenic  devices.  Most  of  his 
plays  depend  to  a  considerable  degree  for  their 
dark  and  heavy  nimbus  of  unreality  upon  a  studied 
combination  of  paraphernalia  in  themselves 
neither  numerous  nor  far-sought.  In  fact,  the  re- 
sulting scenic  repertory,  too,  is  markedly  limited: 
a  weird  forest,  a  deserted  castle  with  marble  stair- 
case and  dreamy  moonlit  terrace,  a  tower  with 
vaulted  dungeons,  a  dismal  corridor  flanked  by  im- 
penetrable chambers,  a  lighted  interior  viewed 
from  the  garden,  a  landscape  bodefully  creped 
with  twilight — the  list  nearly  exhausts  his  store 
of  "sets." 

The  works  mentioned  so  far  are  hardly  more 
than  able  exercises  preparatory  for  the  ampler 
and  more  finished  products  which  were  to  succeed 
them.  Yet  they  represent  signal  steps  in  the  evo- 
lution of  a  new  dramatic  style,  designed,  as  has 
already  been  intimated,  to  give  palpable  form  to 
emotional  data  descried  in  moments  anterior  not 
only  to  articulation  but  even  to  consciousness  it- 
self; and  for  this  reason,  the  plane  of  the  dramatic 

[40] 


Maurice  Maeterlinck 

action  lies  deep  below  the  surface  of  life,  down  in 
the  inner  tabernacle  where  the  mystic  looks  for  the 
hidden  destinies.  In  his  style,  Maeterlinck  had 
gradually  developed  an  unprecedented  capacity  for 
bringing  to  light  the  secret  agencies  of  fate.  A 
portion  of  the  instructed  public  had  already 
learned  to  listen  in  his  writings  for  the  finer  re- 
verberations that  swing  in  the  wake  of  the  uttered 
phrase,  to  heed  the  slightest  hints  and  allusions  in 
the  text,  to  overlook  no  glance  or  gesture  that 
might  betray  the  mind  of  the  acting  characters. 
It  is  true  that  art  to  be  great  must  be  plain,  but 
that  does  not  mean  that  the  sole  test  of  great  art 
is  the  response  of  the  simple  and  apathetic. 

In  Maeterlinck's  first  masterpiece,  Pelleas  et 
Melisande,  (1892),  the  motives  again  are  drawn 
up  from  the  lower  regions  of  consciousness;  once 
more  the  plot  is  born  of  a  gloomy  fancy,  and  the 
darkling  mood  hovering  over  scene  and  action 
attests  the  persistence  of  fatalism  in  the  poet.  The 
theory  of  old  King  Arkel,  the  spokesman  of  the 
author's  personal  philosophy,  is  that  one  should 
not  seek  to  be  active;  one  should  ever  wait  on 
the  threshold  of  Fate.  Even  the  younger  people 
in  the  play  are  infected  by  the  morbid  doctrine  of 
an  inevitable  necessity  for  all  things  that  happen 

[41] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

to  them:  "We  do  not  go  where  we  would  go. 
We  do  not  do  that  which  we  would  do."  Perhaps, 
however,  these  beliefs  are  here  enounced  for  the 
last  time  with  the  author's  assent  or  acquiescence. 
In  artistic  merit  "Pelleas  and  Melisande"  marks 
a  nearer  approach  to  mastery,  once  the  integral 
peculiarities  of  the  form  and  method  have  been 
granted.  Despite  a  noticeable  lack  of  force,  di- 
rectness, and  plasticity  in  the  characterization,  the 
vie  interieure  is  most  convincingly  expressed.  In 
one  of  the  finest  scenes  of  the  play  we  see  the  prin- 
cipals at  night  gazing  out  upon  a  measureless  ex- 
panse of  water  dotted  with  scattered  lights.  The 
atmosphere  is  permeated  with  a  reticent  yearning 
of  love.  The  two  young  creatures,  gentle,  shy, 
their  souls  tinged  with  melancholy,  are  drawn  to- 
wards one  another  by  an  ineluctable  mutual  at- 
traction. Yet,  though  their  hearts  are  filled  to 
overflowing,  not  a  word  of  affection  is  uttered. 
Their  love  reveals  itself  to  us  even  as  to  them- 
selves, without  a  loud  and  jarring  declaration, 
through  its  very  speechlessness,  as  it  were.  The 
situation  well  bears  out  the  roi  sage  in  Alladine 
et  Palomides:  "There  is  a  moment  when  souls 
touch  one  another  and  know  everything  without 
a  need  of  our  opening  the  lips."  There  are  still 

[42] 


Maurice  Maeterlinck 

other  scenes  in  this  play  so  tense  with  emotion  that 
words  would  be  intrusive  and  dissonant.  There  is 
that  lovely  picture  of  Melisande  at  the  window; 
Pelleas  cannot  reach  up  to  her  hand,  but  is  satis- 
fied to  feel  her  loosened  hair  about  his  face.  It 
is  a  question  whether  even  that  immortal  love  duet 
in  "Romeo  and  Juliet"  casts  a  poetic  spell  more 
enchanting  than  this.  At  another  moment  in  the 
drama,  we  behold  the  lovers  in  Maeterlinck's  be- 
loved half-light,  softly  weeping  as  they  stare  with 
speechless  rapture  into  the  flames.  And  not  until 
the  final  parting  does  any  word  of  love  pass  their 
lips.  In  another  part  of  the  play  Goland,  Meli- 
sande's  aging  husband,  who  suspects  his  young 
stepbrother,  Pelleas,  of  loving  Melisande,  con- 
ducts him  to  an  underground  chamber.  We  are 
not  told  why  he  has  brought  him  there,  and  why 
he  has  led  him  to  the  brink  of  the  pitfall  from 
which  there  mounts  a  smell  of  death.  If  it  be  a 
heinous  deed  he  is  brooding,  why  does  he  pause  in 
its  execution?  His  terrible  struggle  does  not  reveal 
itself  through  speech,  yet  it  is  eloquently  expressed 
in  the  wildness  of  his  looks,  the  trembling  of  his 
voice,  and  the  sudden  anguished  outcry :  "Pelleas ! 
Pelleas!" 

Evidently  Maeterlinck  completely  achieves  the 
[431 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

very  purpose  to  which  the  so-called  Futurists  think 
they  must  sacrifice  all  traditional  conceptions  of 
Art;  and  achieves  it  without  any  brutal  stripping 
and  skinning  of  the  poetic  subject,  without  the 
hideous  exhibition  of  its  disjecta  membra,  and 
above  all,  without  that  implied  disqualification  for 
the  higher  artistic  mission  which  alone  could  induce 
a  man  to  limit  his  service  to  the  dishing-up  of 
chunks  and  collops,  "cubic"  or  amorphous. 

In  recognition  of  a  certain  tendency  towards 
mannerism  that  lay  in  his  technique,  Maeterlinck, 
in  a  spirit  of  self-persiflage,  labeled  the  book  of 
one-act  plays  which  he  next  published,  (1894), 
Trots  Petits  Drames  pour  Marionettes  ("Three 
Little  Puppet  Plays" ) .  They  are  entitled,  several- 
ly: Alladine  et  Palomides,  Interieur,  and  La 
Mort  de  Tintagiles.  While  in  motifs  and  ma- 
terials as  well  as  in  the  principal  points  of  style 
these  playlets  present  a  sort  of  epitome  of  his  ar- 
tistic progression  up  to  date,  they  also  display  some 
new  and  significant  qualities.  Of  the  three  the 
first  named  is  most  replete  with  suggestive  sym- 
bolism and  at  the  same  time  most  remindful  of 
the  older  plays,  especially  of  "Pelleas  and  Meli- 
sande."  King  Ablamore  is  in  character  and  de- 
meanor clearly  a  counterpart  of  King  Arkel.  To 

[44] 


Maurice  Maeterlinck 

be  sure  he  makes  a  temporary  stand  against  the 
might  of  Fate,  but  his  resistance  is  meek  and  fu- 
tile, and  his  wisdom  culminates  in  the  same  old 
fatalistic  formula :  "Je  sals  qu'on  ne  fait  pas  ce 
que  I' on  voudrait  faire." 

L'Interieur  ("Home")  handles  a  theme  almost 
identical  with  that  of  L'Intruse:  Life  and  Death 
separated  only  by  a  thin  pane  of  glass, — the  sud- 
den advent  of  affliction  from  a  cloudless  sky.  In 
this  little  tragedy  a  family  scene,  enacted  in  "dumb 
show,"  is  watched  from  the  outside.  The  play  is 
without  suspense  in  the  customary  use  of  the  term, 
since  after  the  first  whispered  conversation  be- 
tween the  bringers  of  the  fateful  tidings  the  au- 
dience is  fully  aware  of  the  whole  story: — the 
daughter  of  the  house,  for  whose  return  the  little 
group  is  waiting,  has  been  found  dead  in  the  river. 
The  quiescent  mood  is  sustained  to  the  end;  no 
great  outburst  of  lamentation;  the  curtain  drops 
the  instant  the  news  has  been  conveyed.  But  the 
poignancy  of  the  tragic  strain  is  only  enhanced 
by  the  repression  of  an  exciting  climax. 

"The  Death  of  Tintagiles"  repeats  in  a  still 
more  harrowing  form  the  fearful  predicament  of 
a  helpless  child  treated  with  so  much  dramatic 
tension  in  Maeterlinck's  first  tragedy.  Again,  as 

[45] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

in  "Princess  Maleine,"  the  action  of  this  dramo- 
let  attains  its  high  point  in  a  scene  where  mur- 
derous treachery  is  about  to  spring  the  trap  set  for 
an  innocent  young  prince.  Intuitively  he  senses 
the  approach  of  death,  and  in  vain  beats  his  lit- 
tle fists  against  the  door  that  imprisons  him.  The 
situation  is  rendered  more  piteous  even  than  in 
the  earlier  treatment  of  the  motif,  because  the 
door  which  bars  his  escape  also  prevents  his  faith- 
ful sister  Ygraine  from  coming  to  the  rescue. 

We  have  observed  in  all  the  plays  so  far  a 
marked  simplicity  of  construction.  Aglavaine  et 
Selysette,  ( 1 896) ,  denotes  a  still  further  simplifica- 
tion. Here  the  scenic  apparatus  is  reduced  to  the 
very  minimum,  and  the  psychological  premises  are 
correspondingly  plain.  The  story  presents  a  "tri- 
angular" love  entanglement  strangely  free  from 
the  sensual  ingredient;  two  women  dream  of  shar- 
ing, in  all  purity,  one  lover — and  the  dream  ends 
for  one  of  them  in  heroic  self-sacrifice  brought  to 
secure  the  happiness  of  the  rival.  However,  more 
noteworthy  than  the  structure  of  the  plot  is  the 
fact  that  the  philosophic  current  flowing  through  it 
has  perceptibly  altered  its  habitual  direction.  The 
spiritual  tendency  is  felt  to  be  turning  in  its  course, 
and  even  though  fatalism  still  holds  the  rule,  with 
[46] 


Maurice  Maeterlinck 

slowly  relaxing  grip,  yet  a  changed  ethical  out- 
look is  manifest.  Also,  this  play  for  the  first  time 
proclaims,  though  in  no  vociferous  manner,  the 
duty  of  the  individual  toward  himself,  the  duty  so 
emphatically  proclaimed  by  two  of  Maeterlinck's 
greatest  teachers,  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson  and 
Henrik  Ibsen. 


The  inner  philosophic  conflict  was  but  of  short 
duration.  In  1898  La  Sagesse  et  La  Destinee 
("Wisdom  and  Destiny")  saw  the  light.  The 
metaphor  might  be  taken  in  a  meaning  higher  and 
more  precise  than  the  customary,  for,  coming  to 
this  book  from  those  that  preceded  is  indeed  like 
emerging  from  some  dark  and  dismal  cave  into 
the  warm  and  cheering  light  of  the  sun.  "Wisdom 
and  Destiny"  is  a  collection  of  essays  and  aphor- 
isms which  stands  to  this  second  phase  of  Maeter- 
linck's dramaturgy  in  a  relation  closely  analogous 
to  that  existing  between  "The  Treasure  of  the 
Humble"  and  the  works  heretofore  surveyed. 
Without  amounting  to  a  wholesale  recantation  of 
the  idea  that  is  central  in  the  earlier  set  of  essays, 
the  message  of  the  newer  set  is  of  a  very  different 
kind.  The  author  of  "Wisdom  and  Destiny"  has 
not  changed  his  view  touching  the  superiority  of 

[47] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

the  intuitional  function  over  the  intellectual.  The 
significant  difference  between  the  old  belief  and 
the  new  consists  simply  in  this :  the  latent  force  of 
life  is  no  longer  imagined  as  an  antagonistic 
agency;  rather  it  is  conceived  as  a  benign  energy 
that  makes  for  a  serene  acceptance  of  the  world 
that  is.  Of  this  turn  in  the  outlook,  the  philo- 
sophic affirmation  of  life  and  the  consent  of  the 
will  to  subserve  the  business  of  living  are  the  salu- 
tary concomitants.  Wisdom,  in  expanding,  has 
burst  the  prison  of  fatalism  and  given  freedom  to 
vision.  The  world,  beheld  in  the  light  of  this 
emancipation,  is  not  to  be  shunned  by  the  wise 
man.  Let  Fortune  bring  what  she  will,  he  can 
strip  his  afflictions  of  their  terrors  by  transmuting 
them  into  higher  knowledge.  Therefore,  pain 
and  suffering  need  not  be  feared  and  shirked;  they 
may  even  be  hailed  with  satisfaction,  for,  as  is 
paradoxically  suggested  in  Aglauaine  et  Selysette, 
they  help  man  "etre  heurettx  en  devenant  plus 
triste," — to  be  happy  in  becoming  sadder.  The 
poet,  who  till  now  had  clung  to  the  conviction  that 
there  can  be  no  happy  fate,  that  all  our  destinies 
are  guided  by  unlucky  stars,  now  on  the  contrary 
persuades  us  to  consider  how  even  calamity  may 
be  refined  in  the  medium  of  wisdom  in  such  fash- 

[48] 


Maurice  Maeterlinck 

ion  as  to  become  an  asset  of  life,  and  warns  us 
against  recoiling  in  spirit  from  any  reverse  of 
our  fortunes.  He  holds  that  blows  and  sorrows 
cannot  undo  the  sage.  Fate  has  no  weapons  save 
those  we  supply,  and  "wise  is  he  for  whom  even 
the  evil  must  feed  the  pyre  of  love."  In  fine,  Fate 
obeys  him  who  dares  to  command  it.  After  all, 
then,  man  has  a  right  to  appoint  himself  the  cap- 
tain of  his  soul,  the  master  of  his  fate. 

Yet,  for  all  that,  the  author  of  "Wisdom  and 
Destiny"  should  not  be  regarded  as  the  partizan 
and  apologist  of  sadness  for  the  sake  of  wisdom. 
If  sorrow  be  a  rich  mine  of  satisfaction,  joy  is  by 
far  the  richer  mine.  This  new  outlook  becomes 
more  and  more  optimistic  because  of  the  increas- 
ing faculty  of  such  a  philosophy  to  extract  from 
the  mixed  offerings  of  life  a  more  near-at-hand 
happiness  than  sufferings  can  possibly  afford;  not 
perchance  that  perpetual  grinning  merriment  over 
the  comicality  of  the  passing  spectacle  which  with 
so  many  passes  for  a  "sense  of  humor,"  but  rather 
a  calm  and  serious  realization  of  what  is  lastingly 
beautiful,  good,  and  true.  A  person's  attainment 
of  this  beatitude  imposes  on  him  the  clear  duty  of 
helping  others  to  rise  to  a  similar  exalted  level  of 
existence.  And  this  duty  Maeterlinck  seeks  to  dis- 

[49] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

charge  by  proclaiming  in  jubilant  accents  the  con- 
crete reality  of  happiness.    L'Oiseau  Bleu  ("The 
Blue  Bird"),  above  all  other  works,  illustrates  the 
fact  that  human  lives  suffer  not  so  much  for  the 
lack  of  happiness  as  for  the  want  of  being  clearly 
conscious  of  the  happiness  they  possess.    It  is  seen 
that  the  seed  of  optimism  in  "The  Treasure  of 
the  Humble"  has  sprouted  and  spread  out,  and  at 
last  triumphantly  shot  forth  through  the  overlay- 
t  ing  fatalism.    The  newly  converted,  hence  all  the 
more  thoroughgoing,  optimist,  believing  that  coun- 
sel and  consolation  can  come  only  from  those  who 
trust  in  the  regenerative  power  of  hope,  throws 
himself  into  a  mental  attitude  akin  to  that  of  the 
Christian   Scientist,   and  confidently  proceeds  to 
cure  the  ills  of  human  kind  by  a  categorical  denial 
of  their  existence.     Or  perhaps  it  would  be  more 
just  to  say  of  Maeterlinck's  latter-day  outlook,  the 
serenity  of  which  even  the  frightful  experience  of 
the  present  time  has  failed  to  destroy,  that  instead 
of   peremptorily   negating    evil,    he    merely    de- 
nies its  supremacy.    All  about  him  he  perceives  in 
the  midst  of  the  worst  wrongs  and  evils  many 
fertile  germs  of  righteousness;  vice  itself  seems  to 
distil  its  own  antitoxin. 

Together  with  Maeterlinck's  optimistic  strain, 
[50] 


Maurice  Maeterlinck 

his  individualism  gains  an  unexpected  emphasis. 
"Before  one  exists  for  others,  one  must  exist  for 
one's  self.  The  egoism  of  a  strong  and  clear- 
sighted soul  is  of  a  more  beneficent  effect  than  all 
the  devotion  of  a  blind  and  feeble  soul."  Here  we 
have  a  promulgation  identical  in  gist  with  Emer- 
son's unqualified  declaration  of  moral  independ- 
ence when  he  says:  "Whoso  would  be  a  man  must 
be  a  nonconformist.  He  who  would  gather  im- 
mortal palms  must  not  be  hindered  by  the  name  of 
goodness,  but  must  explore  if  it  be  goodness. 
Nothing  is  at  last  sacred  but  the  integrity  of  your 
own  mind.  No  law  can  be  sacred  to  me  but  that 
of  my  nature."  l 

His  attitude  of  countenancing  the  positive  joys 
of  living  causes  Maeterlinck  in  his  later  career  to 
reverse  his  former  judgment,  and  to  inveigh,  much 
in  the  manner  of  Nietzsche,  against  the  "parasiti- 
cal virtues."  "Certain  notions  about  resignation 
and  self-sacrifice  sap  the  finest  moral  forces  of 
mankind  more  thoroughly  than  do  great  vices  and 
even  crimes.  The  alleged  triumphs  over  the  flesh 
are  in  most  cases  only  complete  defeats  of  life." 
When  to  such  rebellious  sentiments  is  joined  an  ex- 
plicit warning  against  the  seductions  and  intimida- 

1  "Self-Reliance." 

[51] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

tions  held  out  by  the  official  religions — their  sugar 
plums  and  dog  whips,  as  Maeterlinck  puts  it — one 
can  only  wonder  how  his  writings  escaped  as  long 
as  they  did  the  attention  of  the  authorities  that 
swing  the  power  of  imprimatur  and  anathema. 

Maeterlinck  may  not  be  classed  unreservedly 
as  a  radical  individualist.  For  whereas  a  philoso- 
phy like  that  of  Nietzsche  takes  no  account  of  the 
"much-too-many,"  who  according  to  that  great 
fantasist  do  not  interest  anybody  except  the  stat- 
istician and  the  devil,  Maeterlinck  realizes  the 
supreme  importance  of  the  great  mass  as  the  or- 
dained transmitters  of  civilization.  The  gulf  be- 
tween aristocratic  subjectivism,  devoted  single- 
mindedly  to  the  ruthless  enforcement  of  self-in- 
terest, and,  on  the  other  hand,  a  self-forgetful  so- 
cial enthusiasm,  is  bridged  in  Maeterlinck  by  an 
extremely  strong  instinct  for  justice  and,  more- 
over, by  his  firm  belief — at  least  for  the  time  being 
— that  the  same  strong  instinct  exists  universally 
as  a  specific  trait  of  human  nature.  By  such  a 
philosophy  Justice,  then,  is  discerned  not  as  a 
supra-natural  function,  but  as  a  function  of  human 
nature  as  distinguished  from  nature  at  large.  The 
restriction  is  made  necessary  by  our  knowledge  of 
the  observable  operations  of  nature.  In  particular 

[52] 


Maurice  Maeterlinck 

would  the  principle  of  heredity  seem  to  argue 
against  the  reign  of  justice  in  the  administration 
of  human  destinies,  inasmuch  as  we  find  ourselves 
quite  unable  to  recognize  in  the  apportionment  of 
pleasure  and  pain  anything  like  a  due  ratio  of 
merit.  And  yet  Maeterlinck  realizes  that  per- 
haps nature  measures  life  with  a  larger  standard 
than  the  individual's  short  span  of  existence,  and 
warns  us  in  his  essay  on  "Justice"  not  to  indulge 
our  self-conceit  in  a  specious  emulation  of  ways 
that  are  utterly  beyond  our  comprehension.  After 
all,  then,  our  poet-philosopher  succeeds  foro  con- 
scientia  in  reconciling  his  cult  of  self  with  devo- 
tion to  the  common  interest.  Morality,  in  that 
essay,  is  defined  as  the  co-ordination  of  personal 
desire  to  the  task  assigned  by  nature  to  the  race. 
And  is  it  not  true  that  a  contrary,  that  is,  ascetic 
concept  of  morality  reduces  itself  to  absurdity 
through  its  antagonism  to  that  primal  human  in- 
stinct that  makes  for  the  continuity  of  life? 


From  the  compromise  effected  between  two 
fairly  opposite  ethical  principles,  there  emerges 
in  the  works  of  this  period  something  akin  to  a 
socialistic  tendency.  It  is  organically  related  to 
the  mystical  prepossession  of  the  author's  manner 

[53] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

of  thinking.  Maeterlinck  gratefully  acknowledges 
that  by  the  search-light  of  science  the  uppermost 
layers  of  darkness  have  been  dispelled;  but  real- 
izes also  that  the  deep-seated  central  enigma  still 
remains  in  darkness :  as  much  as  ever  are  the  pri- 
mordial causes  sealed  against  a  glimpse  of  finite 
knowledge.  We  have  changed  the  names,  not  the 
problems.  Instead  of  God,  Providence,  or  Fate, 
we  say  Nature,  Selection,  and  Heredity.  But  in 
reality  do  we  know  more  concerning  Life  than  did 
our  ancestors? 

What,  then,  questions  the  persevering  pursuer 
of  the  final  verities,  shall  we  do  in  order  that  we 
may  press  nearer  to  Truth?  May  we  not  per- 
chance steep  our  souls  in  light  that  flows  from 
another  source  than  science?  And  what  purer 
light  is  there  to  illumine  us  than  the  halo  sur- 
rounding a  contented  worker  performing  his  task, 
not  under  coercion,  but  from  a  voluntary,  or  it 
may  be  instinctive,  submission  to  the  law  of  life? 
If  such  subordination  of  self  constitutes  the  basis 
of  rational  living,  we  shall  do  well  to  study  its 
workings  on  a  lowlier  and  less  complicated  plane 
than  the  human;  for  instance,  in  the  behavior  of 
the  creature  that  is  proverbial  for  its  unflagging 
industry.  For  this  industry  is  not  motivated  by 
[54] 


Maurice  Maeterlinck 

immediate  or  selfish  wants;  it  springs  from  in- 
stinctive self-dedication  to  the  common  cause. 
Some  people  expected  from  La  Vie  des  Abeilles 
("The  Life  of  the  Bee"),  (1901),  much  brand- 
new  information  about  matters  of  apiculture.  But 
in  spite  of  his  twenty-five  years'  experience,  Mae- 
terlinck had  no  startling  discoveries  to  convey  to 
his  fellow-hivers.  His  book  on  bees  is  not  pri- 
marily the  result  of  a  specialist's  investigations  but 
a  poetical  record  of  the  observations  made  by  a 
mind  at  once  romantic  and  philosophical  and 
strongly  attracted  to  the  study  of  this  particular 
form  of  community  life,  because  by  its  organiza- 
tion on  a  miniature  scale  it  spreads  before  the 
student  of  society  a  synoptic  view  of  human  af- 
fairs. 

Of  the  great  change  that  had  by  now  taken 
place  in  his  conception  of  life,  Maeterlinck  was 
fully  cognizant,  and  made  no  concealment  of  it. 
In  the  essay  on  "Justice"  he  says,  with  reference 
to  his  earlier  dramas :  "The  motive  of  these  little 
plays  was  the  fear  of  the  Unknown  by  which  we 
are  constantly  surrounded,"  and  passes  on  to  de- 
scribe his  religious  temper  as  a  sort  of  compound 
of  the  Christian  idea  of  God  with  the  antique  idea 
of  Fate,  immersed  in  the  profound  gloom  of  hope- 

[55] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

less  mystery.  "The  Unknown  took  chiefly  the 
aspect  of  a  power,  itself  but  blindly  groping  in 
the  dark,  yet  disposing  with  inexorable  unfeeling- 
ness  of  the  fates  of  men." 

Evidently  those  same  plays  are  passed  once 
more  in  self-critical  review  in  Ardiane  et  Barbe- 
Bleue  ("Ardiane  and  Blue-Beard"),  (1899),  not- 
withstanding the  fact  that  the  author  disclaims 
any  philosophic  purpose  and  presents  his  work  as 
a  mere  libretto.  We  cannot  regard  it  as  purely 
accidental  that  of  Blue-Beard's  terror-stricken 
wives,  four, — Selysette,  Melisande,  Ygraine,  Al- 
ladine, — bear  the  names  of  earlier  heroines,  and, 
besides,  that  each  of  these  retains  with  the  name 
also  the  character  of  her  namesake.  The  symbol- 
ism is  too  transparent.  The  child-wives  of  the  cruel 
knight,  forever  in  a  state  of  trembling  fear,  are 
too  passive  to  extricate  themselves  from  their  fate, 
whereas  Ardiane  succeeds  instantly  in  breaking 
her  captivity,  because  she  has  the  spirit  and 
strength  to  shatter  the  window  and  let  in  the  light 
and  air.  The  contrast  between  her  resolute  per- 
sonality and  those  five  inert  bundles  of  misery  un- 
doubtedly connotes  the  difference  between  the  au- 
thor's paralyzing  fatalism  in  the  past  and  his  pres- 
ent dynamic  optimism. 

[56] 


Maurice  Maeterlinck 

A  like  contrast  between  dejection  and  resilience 
would  be  brought  to  light  by  a  comparison  of  the 
twelve  lyric  poems,  Douze  Chansons,  (1897), 
with  the  Serres  Chaudes.  The  mood  is  still  great- 
ly subdued;  the  new  poetry  is  by  no  means  free 
from  sadness  and  a  strain  of  resignation.  But  the 
half-stifled  despair  that  cries  out  from  the  older 
book  returns  no  dissonant  echo  in  the  new. 

Even  his  dramatic  technique  comes  under  the 
sway  of  Maeterlinck's  altered  view  of  the  world. 
The  far  freer  use  of  exciting  and  eventful  action 
testifies  to  increased  elasticity  and  force.  This  is 
a  marked  feature  of  Sazur  Beatrice  ("Sister 
Beatrice"),  (1900),  a  miracle  play  founded  on 
the  old  story  about  the  recreant  nun  who,  broken 
from  sin  and  misery,  returns  to  the  cloister  and 
finds  that  during  the  many  years  of  her  absence 
her  part  and  person  have  been  carried  out  by 
the  Holy  Virgin  herself. 

Equally,  the  three  other  dramas  of  this  epoch — 
Aglavaine  et  Selysette,  Monna  Vanna,  and  Joy- 
zelle — are  highly  available  for  scenic  enactment. 
Of  the  three,  Monna  Fanna,  (1902),  in  particu- 
lar is  conspicuous  for  a  wholly  unexpected  apti- 
tude of  characterization,  and  for  the  unsurpassed 
intensity  of  its  situations,  which  in  this  isolated 

[57] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

case  are  not  cast  in  a  single  mood  as  in  the  other 
plays,  but  are  individually  distinct  and  full  of 
dramatic  progress,  whereas  everywhere  else  the 
action  moves  rather  sluggishly. 

"Monna  Vanna"  is  one  of  the  most  brilliantly 
actable  plays  of  modern  times,  despite  its  im- 
probability. A  certain  incongruity  between  the 
realistic  and  the  romantic  aspects  in  the  behavior 
of  the  principals  is  saved  from  offensiveness  by 
a  disposition  on  the  part  of  the  spectator  to  refer 
it,  unhistorically,  to  the  provenience  of  the  story. 
But  as  a  matter  of  fact  the  actors  are  not  fifteenth 
century  Renaissance  men  and  women  at  all,  but 
mystics,  modern  mystics  at  that,  both  in  their  rea- 
soning and  their  morality.  It  is  under  a  cryptical 
soul-compulsion  that  Giovanna  goes  forth  to  the 
unknown  condottiere  prepared  to  lay  down  her 
honor  for  the  salvation  of  her  people,  and  that 
her  husband  at  last  conquers  his  repugnance  to  her 
going.  Prinzivalle,  Guido,  Marco,  are  mystics 
even  to  a  higher  degree  than  Vanna. 

The  poignant  actualism  of  "Monna  Vanna" 
lies,  however,  in  the  author's  frank  sympathy  with 
a  distinctively  modern  zest  for  freedom.  The 
situation  between  husband  and  wife  is  reminiscent 
of  "A  Doll's  House"  in  the  greedily  possessive 

[58] 


Maurice  Maeterlinck 

quality  of  Guide's  affection,  with  which  quality 
his  tyrannous  unbelief  in  Prinzivalle's  magna- 
nimity fully  accords.  But  Maeterlinck  here  goes 
a  step  beyond  Ibsen.  In  her  married  life  with 
Guido,  Vanna  was  meekly  contented,  "at  least  as 
happy  as  one  can  be  when  one  has  renounced  the 
vague  and  extravagant  dreams  which  seem  be- 
yond human  life."  When  the  crisis  arrives  she 
realizes  that  "it  is  never  too  late  for  one  who  has 
found  a  love  that  can  fill  a  life."  Her  final  re- 
bellion is  sanctioned  by  the  author,  who  unmis- 
takably endorses  the  venerable  Marco's  profes- 
sion of  faith  that  life  is  always  in  the  right. 

"Joyzelle,"  (1903),  inferior  to  "Monna  Van- 
na" dramaturgically,  and  in  form  the  most  dis- 
tinctly fantastic  of  all  Maeterlinck's  productions, 
is  still  farther  removed  from  the  fatalistic  atmos- 
phere. This  play  sounds,  as  the  author  himself 
has  stated,  "the  triumph  of  will  and  love  over 
destiny  or  fatality,"  as  against  the  converse  les- 
son of  Monna  Vanna.  The  idea  is  symbolically 
expressed  in  the  temptations  of  Lanceor  and  in 
the  liberation  of  Joyzelle  and  her  lover  from  the 
power  of  Merlin  and  his  familiar,  Arielle,  who 
impersonates  the  secret  forces  of  the  heart. 

Aglavaine  et  Selysette,  Monna  Vanna,  and 
[59] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

Joyzelle  mark  by  still  another  sign  the  advent  of 
a  new  phase  in  Maeterlinck's  evolution;  namely, 
by  the  characterization  of  the  heroines.  Pre- 
viously, the  women  in  his  plays  were  hardly  in- 
dividualized and  none  of  them  can  be  said  to 
possess  a  physiognomy  strictly  her  own.  Mae- 
terlinck had  returned  with  great  partiality  again 
and  again  to  the  same  type  of  woman :  languid  and 
listless,  without  stamina  and  strength,  yet  at  the 
same  time  full  of  deep  feeling,  and  capable  of 
unending  devotion — pathetic  incorporeal  figures 
feeling  their  way  along  without  the  light  of  self- 
consciousness,  like  some  pre-raphaelite  species  of 
somnambulists.  In  the  new  plays,  on  the  con- 
trary, women  of  a  courageous  and  venturesome 
spirit  and  with  a  self-possessive  assurance  are  por- 
trayed by  preference  and  with  unmistakable  ap- 
proval. 

As  the  technique  in  the  more  recent  creations 
of  Maeterlinck,  so  the  diction,  too,  accommodates 
itself  to  altered  tendencies.  Whereas  formerly 
the  colloquy  was  abrupt  and  fragmentary,  it  is 
now  couched  in  cadenced,  flowing  language,  which, 
nevertheless,  preserves  the  old-time  simplicity. 
The  poet  himself  has  criticized  his  former  dia- 
logue. He  said  it  made  those  figures  seem  like 
[60] 


Maurice  Maeterlinck 

deaf  people  walking  in  their  sleep,  whom  some- 
body is  endeavoring  to  arouse  from  a  heavy 
dream.  

For  the  limited  purpose  of  this  sketch  it  is  not 
needful  to  enter  into  a  detailed  discussion  of  Mae- 
terlinck's latest  productions,  since  such  lines  as 
they  add  to  his  philosophical  and  artistic  physiog- 
nomy have  been  traced  beforehand.  His  literary 
output  for  the  last  dozen  years  or  so  is  embodied 
in  six  or  seven  volumes:  about  two  years  to  a 
book  seems  to  be  his  normal  ratio  of  achieve- 
ment, the  same  as  was  so  regularly  observed  by 
Henrik  Ibsen,  and  one  that  seems  rather  suitable 
for  an  author  whose  reserve,  dictated  by  a  pro- 
found artistic  and  moral  conscience,  like  his  ac- 
tual performance,  calls  for  admiration  and  grati- 
tude. During  the  war  he  has  written,  or  at  least 
published,  very  little.  It  is  fairly  safe  to  assume 
that  the  emotional  experience  of  this  harrowing 
period  will  control  his  future  philosophy  as  its 
most  potent  factor;  equally  safe  is  it  to  predict, 
on  the  strength  of  his  published  utterances,  that 
his  comprehensive  humanity,  that  has  been  put 
to  such  a  severe  test,  will  pass  unscathed  through 
the  ordeal. 

[61] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

Of  the  last  group  of  Maeterlinck's  works  only 
two  are  dramas,  namely,  "The  Blue  Bird," 
(1909),  and  "Mary  Magdalene,"  (1910).  The 
baffling  symbolism  of  "The  Blue  Bird"  has  not 
stood  in  the  way  of  a  tremendous  international 
stage  success;  the  fact  is  due  much  less  to  the 
simple  line  of  thought  that  runs  through  the 
puzzle  than  to  the  exuberant  fancy  that  gave  rise 
to  it  and  its  splendid  scenical  elaboration.  Prob- 
ably Mr.  Henry  Rose  is  right,  in  his  helpful  analy- 
sis of  "The  Blue  Bird,"  in  venturing  the  asser- 
tion that  "by  those  who  are  familiar  with  Sweden- 
borg's  teaching  'The  Blue  Bird'  must  be  recog- 
nized as  to  a  very  large  extent  written  on  lines 
which  are  in  accordance  with  what  is  known  as 
the  Science  of  Correspondences — a  very  important 
part  of  Swedenborg's  teachings."  But  the  under- 
standing of  this  symbolism  in  its  fullness  offers 
very  great  difficulties.  That  a  definite  and  con- 
sistent meaning  underlies  all  its  features  will  be 
rather  felt  than  comprehended  by  the  great  ma- 
jority who  surely  cannot  be  expected  to  go  to  the 
trouble  first  of  familiarizing  themselves  with  Mae- 
terlinck's alleged  code  of  symbols  and  then  of 
applying  it  meticulously  to  the  interpretation  of 
his  plays. 

[62] 


Maurice  Maeterlinck 

"Mary  Magdalene,"  judged  from  the  dramatic 
point  of  view,  is  a  quite  impressive  tragedy,  yet 
a  full  and  sufficient  treatment  of  the  very  sugges- 
tive scriptural  legend  it  is  not.  The  converted 
courtezan  is  characterized  too  abstractly.  Instead 
of  presenting  herself  as  a  woman  consumed  with 
blazing  sensuality  but  in  whom  the  erotic  fire  is 
transmuted  into  religious  passion,  she  affects  us 
like  an  enacted  commentary  upon  such  a  most 
extraordinary  experience. 

Finally,  there  are  several  volumes  of  essays,  to 
some  of  which  reference  has  already  been  made.1 
Le  Temple  Enseveli  ("The  Buried  Temple"), 
(1902),  consists  of  six  disquisitions,  all  dealing 
with  metaphysical  subjects:  Justice,  The  Evolu- 
tion of  Mystery,  The  Reign  of  Matter,  The  Past, 
Chance,  The  Future.  Le  Double  Jar  din  ("The 
Double  Garden"),  (1904),  is  much  more  miscel- 
laneous in  its  makeup.  These  are  its  heterogene- 
ous subjects:  The  Death  of  a  Little  Dog,  Monte 
Carlo,  A  Ride  in  a  Motor  Car,  Dueling,  The 

1  Considerable  liberty  has  been  taken  by  Maeterlinck  in  the 
grouping  and  naming  of  his  essays  upon  their  republication  in 
the  several  collections.  The  confusion  caused  thereby  is  greatly 
increased  by  the  deviation  of  some  of  the  translated  editions 
from  the  original  volumes  as  to  the  sequence  of  articles,  the 
individual  and  collective  titles,  and  even  the  contents  themselves. 

[63] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

Angry  Temper  of  the  Bees,  Universal  Suffrage, 
The  Modern  Drama,  The  Sources  of  Spring, 
Death  and  the  Crown  (a  discussion  upon  the  fa- 
tal illness  of  Edward  VII) ,  a  View  of  Rome,  Field 
Flowers,  Chrysanthemums,  Old-fashioned  Flow- 
ers, Sincerity,  The  Portrait  of  Woman,  and  Olive 
Branches  (a  survey  of  certain  now,  alas,  obsolete 
ethical  movements  of  that  day).  L' Intelligence 
des  Fleurs  (in  the  translation  it  is  named  "Life 
and  Flowers,"  in  an  enlarged  issue  "The  Measure 
of  the  Hours,"  both  1907),  takes  up,  besides  the 
theme  of  the  general  caption,  the  manufacture  of 
perfumes,  the  various  instruments  for  measuring 
time,  the  psychology  of  accident,  social  duty,  war, 
prize-fighting,  and  "King  Lear."  In  1912,  three 
essays  on  Emerson,  Novalis,  and  Ruysbroeck  ap- 
peared collectively,  in  English,  under  the  title  "On 
Emerson  and  Other  Essays."  These  originally 
prefaced  certain  works  of  those  writers  translated 
by  Maeterlinck  in  his  earlier  years. 

Maeterlinck's  most  recent  publications  are  La 
Mort  (published  in  English  in  a  considerably  ex- 
tended collection  under  the  title  "Our  Eternity"), 
(1913),  "The  Unknown  Guest,"  (1914),  and  Les 
Debris  de  la  Guerre  ("The  Wrack  of  the 

[64] 


Maurice  Maeterlinck 

Storm"),  (I9I6).1  The  two  first  named,  having 
for  their  central  subject  Death  and  the  great  con- 
comitant problem  of  the  life  beyond,  show  that  the 
author  has  become  greatly  interested  in  psychical 
research;  he  even  goes  so  far  as  to  affirm  his  belief 
in  precognition.  In  these  essays,  Theosophy  and 
Spiritism  and  kindred  occult  theories  are  care- 
fully analyzed,  yet  ingenious  as  are  the  author's 
speculations,  they  leave  anything  like  a  solution 
of  the  perplexing  riddles  far  afield.  On  the  whole 
he  inclines  to  a  telepathic  explanation  of  the  psychi- 
cal phenomena,  yet  thinks  they  may  be  due  to  the 
strivings  of  the  cosmic  intelligence  after  fresh 
outlets,  and  believes  that  a  careful  and  persistent 
investigation  of  these  phenomena  may  open  up 
hitherto  undreamt  of  realms  of  reality.  In  gen- 
eral, we  find  him  on  many  points  less  assertive 
than  he  was  in  the  beginning  and  inclined  to  a 
general  retrenchment  of  the  dogmatic  element  in 
his  philosophic  attitude.  A  significant  passage  in 
"The  Buried  Treasure"  teaches  us  not  to  deplore 
the  loss  of  fixed  beliefs.  "One  should  never  look 
back  with  regret  to  those  hours  when  a  great  be- 
lief abandons  us.  A  faith  that  becomes  extinct, 

1  "The  Light  Beyond"  (1917)  is  not  a  new  work  at  all,  but 
merely  a  combination  of  parts  from  "Our  Eternity"  and  "The 
Wrack  of  the  Storm." 

[65] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

a  means  that  fails,  a  dominant  idea  that  no  longer 
dominates  us  because  we  think  it  is  our  turn  to 
dominate  it — these  things  prove  that  we  are  living, 
that  we  are  progressing,  that  we  are  using  up  a 
great  many  things  because  we  are  not  standing 
still."  Of  the  gloomy  fatalism  of  his  literary  be- 
ginnings hardly  a  trace  is  to  be  found  in  the  Mae- 
terlinck of  to-day.  His  war-book,  "The  Wrack 
of  the  Storm,"  breathes  a  calm  optimism  in  the 
face  of  untold  disaster.  The  will  of  man  is  put 
above  the  power  of  fate.  "Is  it  possible  that  fa- 
tality— by  which  I  mean  what  perhaps  for  a  mo- 
ment was  the  unacknowledged  desire  of  the  planet 
— shall  not  regain  the  upper  hand?  At  the  stage 
which  man  has  reached,  I  hope  and  believe  so. 
.  .  .  Everything  seems  to  tell  us  that  man  is  ap- 
proaching the  day  whereon,  seizing  the  most  glori- 
ous opportunity  that  has  ever  presented  itself 
since  he  acquired  a  consciousness,  he  will  at  last 
learn  that  he  is  able,  when  he  pleases,  to  control 
his  whole  fate  in  this  world."  *  His  faith  in  hu- 
manity is  built  on  the  heroic  virtues  displayed  in 
this  war.  "To-day,  not  only  do  we  know  that 
these  virtues  exist:  we  have  taught  the  world  that 
they  are  always  triumphant,  that  nothing  is  lost 

1  "The  Wrack  of  the  Storm,"  p.  144  f. 

[66] 


Maurice  Maeterlinck 

while  faith  is  left,  while  honor  is  intact,  while  love 
continues,  while  the  soul  does  not  surrender."  .  .  . 
Death  itself  is  now  threatened  with  extinction  by 
our  heroic  race:  "The  more  it  exercises  its  rav- 
ages, the  more  it  increases  the  intensity  of  that 
which  it  cannot  touch;  the  more  it  pursues  its 
phantom  victories,  the  better  does  it  prove  to  us 
that  man  will  end  by  conquering  death." 

In  the  concluding  chapter  of  "Our  Eternity," 
the  romantic  modification  of  Maeterlinck's  mysti- 
cism is  made  patent  in  his  confession  regarding  the 
problem  of  Knowledge:  "I  have  added  nothing 
to  what  was  already  known.  I  have  simply  tried 
to  separate  what  may  be  true  from  that  which  is 
assuredly  not  true.  .  .  .  Perhaps  through  our 
quest  for  that  undiscoverable  Truth  we  shall  have 
accustomed  our  eyes  to  pierce  the  terror  of  the 
last  hour  by  looking  it  full  in  the  face.  .  .  .  We 
need  have  no  hope  that  any  one  will  utter  on  this 
earth  the  word  that  shall  put  an  end  to  our  un- 
certainties. It  is  very  probable,  on  the  contrary, 
that  no  one  in  this  world,  nor  perhaps  in  the  next, 
will  discover  the  great  secret  of  the  universe. 
And  ...  it  is  most  fortunate  that  it  should  be  so. 
We  have  not  only  to  resign  ourselves  to  living  in 
the  incomprehensible,  but  to  rejoice  that  we  can- 

[67] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

not  get  out  of  it.  If  there  were  no  more  insoluble 
questions  .  .  .  infinity  would  not  be  infinite;  and 
then  we  should  have  forever  to  curse  the  fate 
that  placed  us  in  a  universe  proportionate  to  our 
intelligence.  The  unknown  and  the  unknowable 
are  necessary  and  will  perhaps  always  be  neces- 
sary to  our  happiness.  In  any  case,  I  would  not 
wish  my  worst  enemy,  were  his  understanding  a 
thousandfold  loftier  and  a  thousandfold  might- 
ier than  mine,  to  be  condemned  eternally  to  inhabit 
a  world  of  which  he  had  surprised  an  essential 
secret.  .  .  .J)1 

So  the  final  word  of  Maeterlinck's  philosophy, 
after  a  lifetime  of  ardent  search,  clears  up  none 
of  the  tantalizing  secrets  of  our  existence.  And 
yet  somehow  it  bears  a  message  that  is  full  of  con- 
solation. The  value  of  human  life  lies  in  the  per- 
petual movement  towards  a  receding  goal.  Who- 
ever can  identify  himself  with  such  a  philosophy 
and  accept  its  great  practical  lesson,  that  we  shall 
never  reach  Knowledge  but  acquire  wisdom  in  the 
pursuit,  should  be  able  to  envisage  the  veiled  coun- 
tenance of  Truth  without  despair,  and  even  to  face 
with  some  courage  the  eternal  problem  of  our 
being,  its  reason  and  its  destination. 

1  Quoted  from  the  excellent  translation  by  A.  T.  de  Mattos. 

[68] 


AUGUST  STRINDBERG 


II 

THE  ECCENTRICITY  OF  AUGUST  STRINDBERG 

ONE  cannot  speak  of  August  Strindberg 
with  much  gusto.  The  most  broadmind- 
ed  critic  will  find  himself  under  necessity 
to  disapprove  of  him  as  a  man  and  to  condemn 
so  many  features  of  his  production  that  almost 
one  might  question  his  fitness  as  a  subject  of  lit- 
erary discussion.  Nevertheless,  his  importance  is 
beyond  dispute  and  quite  above  the  consideration 
of  personal  like  or  dislike,  whether  we  view  him 
in  his  creative  capacity, — as  an  intellectual  and 
ethical  spokesman  of  his  time, — or  in  his  human 
character, — as  a  typical  case  of  certain  mental 
and  moral  maladies  which  somehow  during  his 
time  were  more  or  less  epidemic  throughout  the 
lettered  world.  We  have  it  on  excellent  authority 
that  at  his  debut  in  the  literary  theatre  he  made 
the  stage  quake  with  the  elemental  power  of  his 
personality.  Gigantic  rebels  like  Ibsen,  Bjoern- 
son,  Nietzsche,  and  Tolstoy,  we  are  told,  dwindled 

[71] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

to  normal  proportions  beside  his  titanic  stature. 
He  aimed  to  conquer  and  convert  the  whole  world 
by  his  fanatical  protest  against  the  rotten  civiliza- 
tion of  his  time.  The  attempt  proved  an  utter 
failure.  He  never  could  grow  into  a  world-figure, 
because  he  lacked  the  courage  as  well  as  the  cos- 
mopolitan adaptability  needed  for  intellectual  ex- 
patriation. Hence,  in  great  contrast  to  Ibsen,  he 
remained  to  Europe  at  large  the  uncouth  Scandi- 
navian, while  in  the  eyes  of  Scandinavia  he  was 
specifically  the  Swede;  and  his  country-men,  even 
though  they  acknowledged  him  their  premier  poet, 
treated  him,  because  of  his  eccentricity,  as  a  na- 
tional gazing-stock  rather  than  as  a  genuine  na- 
tional asset.  Yet  for  all  that,  he  ranks  as  the 
foremost  writer  of  his  country  and  one  of  the 
representative  men  of  the  age.  His  poetic  genius 
is  admitted  by  practically  all  the  critics,  while  the 
greatest  among  them,  George  Brandes,  pronounces 
him  in  addition  an  unsurpassed  master  in  the 
command  of  his  mother  tongue.  But  his  position 
as  a  writer  is  by  no  means  limited  to  his  own  lit- 
tle country.  For  his  works  have  been  translated 
into  all  civilized  languages,  and  if  the  circulation 
of  literary  products  is  a  safe  indication  of  their 
influence,  then  several  of  Strindberg's  books  at 
[72] 


August  Strindberg 

least  must  be  credited  with  having  done  something 
toward  shaping  the  thought  of  our  time  upon  some 
of  its  leading  issues.  In  any  case,  the  large  and 
durable  interest  shown  his  productions  marks 
Strindberg  as  a  literary  phenomenon  of  sufficient 
consequence  to  deserve  some  study. 

Readers  of  Strindberg  who  seek  to  discover  the 
reason  why  criticism  should  have  devoted  so  much 
attention  to  an  author  regarded  almost  universally 
with  strong  disapproval  and  aversion,  will  find 
that  reason  most  probably  in  the  extreme  subjec- 
tiveness  that  dominates  everything  he  has  written ; 
personal  confession,  novels,  stories.,  and  plays 
alike  share  this  equality,  and  even  in  his  historical 
dramas  the  figures,  despite  the  minute  accuracy  of 
their  delineation,  are  moved  by  the  author's  pas- 
sion, not  their  own.  Rarely,  if  ever,  has  a  writer 
of  eminence  demonstrated  a  similar  incapacity  to 
reproduce  the  thoughts  and  feelings  of  other  peo- 
ple. It  has  been  rightly  declared  that  all  his  lead- 
ing characters  are  merely  the  outward  projections 
of  his  own  sentiments  and  ideas, — that  at  bottom 
he,  August  Strindberg,  is  the  sole  protagonist  in 
all  his  dramaturgy  and  fiction. 

Strindberg  was  a  man  with  an  omnivorous  in- 
tellectual curiosity,  and  he  commanded  a  vast  store 

[731 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

of  knowledge  in  the  fields  of  history,  science,  and 
languages.  His  "History  of  the  Swedish  People" 
is  recognized  by  competent  judges  as  a  very  bril- 
liant and  scholarly  performance.  Before  he  was 
launched  in  his  literary  career,  and  while  still  ob- 
scurely employed  as  minor  assistant  at  a  library, 
he  earned  distinction  as  a  student  of  the  Chinese 
language,  and  one  product  of  his  research  work  in 
that  field  was  even  deemed  worthy  of  being  read 
before  the  Academic  des  Inscriptions  et  Belles 
Lettres.  In  Geology,  Chemistry,  Botany,  he  was 
equally  productive.  But  the  taint  of  eccentricity 
in  his  mental  fibre  prevented  his  imposing  scientific 
accomplishments  from  maintaining  him  in  a  state 
of  intellectual  equilibrium.  He  laid  as  much  store 
by  things  of  which  he  had  a  mere  smattering  as 
by  those  on  which  he  was  an  authority,  and  his 
resultant  unsteadiness  caused  him  to  oscillate  be- 
tween opposite  scientific  enthusiasms  even  as  his 
self-contradictory  personal  character  involved  him 
in  abrupt  changes  of  position,  and  made  him  jump 
from  one  extreme  of  behavior  to  the  other. 


Strindberg  first  attracted  public  notice  by  the 
appearance  in  1879  of  a  novel  named  "The  Red 
Room."     Its  effect  upon  a  country  characterized 
[74] 


August  Strindberg 

by  so  keen  an  observer  as  George  Brandes  as  per- 
haps the  most  conservative  in  Europe  resembled 
the  excitement  caused  by  Schiller's  "The  Robbers" 
almost  precisely  one  hundred  years  before.  It 
stirred  up  enough  dust  to  change,  though  not  to 
cleanse,  the  musty  atmosphere  of  Philistia.  For 
here  was  instantly  recognized  the  challenge  of  a 
radical  spirit  uprisen  in  full  and  ruthless  rebellion 
against  each  and  every  time-hallowed  usage  and 
tradition.  The  recollection  of  that  hot-spur  agita- 
tor bent  with  every  particle  of  his  strength  to 
rouse  the  world  up  from  its  lethargy  by  his  stento- 
rian "J'accuse"  and  to  pass  sentence  upon  it  by 
sheer  tremendous  vociferation,  is  almost  entirely 
obliterated  to-day  by  the  remembrance  of  quite 
another  Strindberg: — the  erstwhile  stormy  idealist 
changed  into  a  leering  cynic;  a  repulsive  embodi- 
ment of  negation,  a  grimacing  Mephistopheles 
who  denies  life  and  light  or  anything  that  he  can- 
not comprehend,  and  to  whom  the  face  of  the 
earth  appears  forever  covered  with  darkness  and 
filth  and  death  and  corruption.  Indeed  this  final 
depictment  of  August  Strindberg,  whether  or  no 
it  be  accurately  true  to  life,  is  a  terrible  example 
of  what  life  can  make  of  a  man,  or  a  man  of  his 
life,  if  he  is  neither  light  enough  to  be  borne  by 

[751 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

the  current  of  his  time,  nor  strong  enough  to  set 
his  face  against  the  tide  and  breast  it. 

The  question  is,  naturally,  was  Strindberg  sin- 
cere in  the  fanatical  insurgency  of  his  earlier 
period,  or  was  his  attitude  merely  a  theatrical  pose 
and  his  social  enthusiasm  a  ranting  declamation? 
In  either  case,  there  opens  up  this  other  question : 
Have  we  reason  to  doubt  the  sincerity  of  the  men- 
tal changes  that  were  yet  to  follow, — the  genuine- 
ness of  his  pessimism,  occultism,  and,  in  the  final 
stage,  of  his  religious  conversion?  His  unex- 
ampled hardihood  in  reversing  his  opinions  and 
going  dead  against  his  convictions  could  be  illus- 
trated in  nearly  every  sphere  of  thought.  At  one 
time  a  glowing  admirer  of  Rousseau  and  loudly 
professing  his  gospel  of  nature,  he  forsook  this 
allegiance,  and  chose  as  his  new  idol  Rousseau's 
very  antipode,  Voltaire.  For  many  years  he  was 
a  democrat  of  the  purest  water,  identified  himself 
with  the  proletarian  cause,  and  acted  as  the  fiery 
champion  of  the  poor  labor-driven  masses  against 
their  oppressors;  but  one  fine  day,  no  matter 
whether  it  came  about  directly  through  his  contact 
with  Nietzsche  or  otherwise,  he  repudiated  social- 
ism, scornfully  denouncing  it  as  a  tattered  remnant 
of  his  cast-off  Christianity,  and  arrayed  himself 
[76] 


August  Strindberg 

on  the  side  of  the  elect,  or  self-elect,  against  the 
"common  herd,"  the  "much-too-many."  License 
for  the  best  to  govern  the  rest,  became  temporarily 
his  battle-cry;  and  his  political  ideal  suggested 
nothing  less  completely  absurd  than  a  republic  pre- 
sided over  by  an  oligarchy  of  autocrats.  His  un- 
surpassed reputation  as  an  anti-feminist  would 
hardly  prepare  us  to  find  his  earlier  works  fairly 
aglow  with  sympathy  for  the  woman  cause.  He 
held  at  one  time,  as  did  Tolstoy,  that  art  and 
poetry  have  a  detrimental  effect  upon  the  natural 
character;  for  which  reason  the  peasant  is  a  more 
normal  being  than  the  lettered  man.  Especially 
was  he  set  against  the  drama,  on  the  ground  that 
it  throws  the  public  mind  into  confusion  by  its 
failure  to  differentiate  sharply  between  the  au- 
thor's own  opinions  and  those  of  the  characters. 
Literature,  he  held,  should  pattern  itself  after  a 
serious  newspaper:  it  should  seek  to  influence, 
not  entertain.  Not  only  did  he  drop  this  pedantic 
restriction  of  literature  in  the  end,  but  in  his  own 
practice  he  had  always  defied  it,  because,  despite 
his  fierce  campaign  against  art,  he  could  not  over- 
come the  force  of  his  artistic  impulses.  And  so  in 
other  provinces  of  thought,  too,  he  reversed  his 
judgment  with  a  temerity  and  swiftness  that  great- 

[77] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

ly  offended  the  feelings  and  perplexed  the  intelli- 
gence of  his  followers  for  the  time  being  and  justi- 
fied the  question  whether  Strindberg  had  any  prin- 
ciples at  all.  In  politics  he  was  by  quick  turns 
Anarchist  and  Socialist,  Radical  and  Conservative, 
Republican  and  Aristocrat,  Communist  and  Ego- 
ist; in  religion,  Pietist,  Protestant,  Deist,  Atheist, 
Occultist,  and  Roman  Catholic.  And  yet  unques- 
tionably he  was  honest.  To  blame  him  merely 
because  he  changed  his  views,  and  be  it  never  so 
radically,  would  be  blaming  a  man  for  exercising 
his  right  to  develop.  In  any  man  of  influence,  an 
unalterable  permanency  of  opinion  would  be  even 
more  objectionable  than  a  frequent  shift  of  his 
point  of  view.  In  recent  times  the  presumable 
length  of  a  person's  intellectual  usefulness  has 
been  a  live  subject  of  discussion  which  has  re- 
sulted in  some  legislation  of  very  questionable 
wisdom,  for  instance  the  setting  of  an  arbitrary 
age  limit  for  the  active  service  of  high-grade  teach- 
ers. In  actual  experience  men  are  too  old  to  teach, 
or  through  any  other  function  to  move  the  minds 
of  younger  people  in  a  forward  direction,  when- 
ever they  have  lost  the  ability  to  change  their  own 
mind.  Yet  at  all  events,  an  eminent  author's  right 
of  self-reversal  must  not  be  exercised  at  random ; 

[78] 


August  Strindberg 

he  should  refrain  from  the  propagation  of  new 
opinions  that  have  not  ripened  within  himself. 
Which  is  the  same  as  saying  that  he  should  stick 
to  his  old  opinions  until  he  finds  himself  inwardly 
compelled  to  abandon  them.  But  as  a  matter  of 
fact,  a  man  like  Strindberg,  propelled  by  an  un- 
bridled imagination,  alert  with  romantic  tenden- 
cies, nervously  overstrung,  kept  constantly  under  a 
strain  by  his  morbidly  sensitive  temperament, — 
and  whose  brain  is  consequently  a  seething  chaos 
of  conflicting  ideas,  is  never  put  to  the  necessity 
of  changing  his  mind;  his  mind  keeps  changing  it- 
self. 

It  must  be  as  difficult  for  the  literary  historian 
to  do  Strindberg  full  justice  as  it  was  for  the  great 
eccentric  himself;  when  in  taking  stock,  as  it  were, 
of  his  mental  equipment,  during  one  of  his  pro- 
tracted periods  of  despondency,  he  summed  him- 
self up  in  the  following  picturesque  simile:  "A 
monstrous  conglomeration,  changing  its  forms  ac- 
cording to  the  observer's  point  of  view  and  pos- 
sessing no  more  reality  than  the  rainbow  that  is 
visible  to  the  eyes  and  yet  does  not  exist."  His 
evolution  may  be  tracked,  however,  in  the  detailed 
autobiography  in  which  he  undertook,  by  a  rigor- 
ous application  of  Hippolyte  Taine's  well-known 

[79] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

theory  and  method,  to  account  for  his  tempera- 
mental peculiarities  on  the  basis  of  heredity  and 
the  milieu  and  to  describe  the  gradual  transforma- 
tion of  his  character  through  education  and  the 
external  pressure  of  contemporary  intellectual 
movements.  This  remarkable  work  is  like  a  pic- 
ture book  of  ideals  undermined,  hollowed,  and 
shattered;  a  perverse  compound  of  cynicism  and 
passion,  it  is  unspeakably  loathsome  to  the  sense 
of  beauty  and  yet,  in  the  last  artistic  reckoning, 
not  without  great  beauty  of  its  own.  It  divides 
the  story  of  Strindberg's  life  into  these  consecu- 
tive parts:  The  Son  of  the  Servant;  The  Author; 
The  Evolution  of  a  Soul;  The  Confession  of  a 
Fool;  Inferno;  Legends;  The  Rupture;  Alone. 
The  very  titles  signalize  the  brutal  frankness,  or, 
shall  we  say,  terrible  sincerity  of  a  tale  that  rum- 
mages without  piety  among  the  most  sacred  priva- 
cies, and  drags  forth  from  intimate  nooks  and  cor- 
ners sorrow  and  squalor  and  shame  enough  to 
have  wrecked  a  dozen  average  existences.  There 
is  no  mistaking  or  evading  the  challenge  hurled 
by  this  story:  See  me  as  I  am,  stripped  of  con- 
ventional lies  and  pretensions!  Look  upon  my 
naked  soul,  covered  with  scars  and  open  sores. 
Behold  me  in  my  spasms  of  love  and  hate,  now  in 
[80] 


August  Strindberg 

demoniacal  transports,  now  prostrate  with  an- 
guish !  And  if  you  want  to  know  how  I  came  to 
be  what  I  am,  consider  my  ancestry,  my  bringing 
up,  my  social  environment,  and  be  sure  also  to 
pocket  your  own  due  share  of  the  blame  for  my  de- 
struction ! — Certainly  Strindberg's  autobiography 
is  not  to  be  recommended  as  a  graduation  gift  for 
convent-bred  young  ladies,  or  as  a  soothing  diver- 
sion for  convalescents,  but  if  accepted  in  a  proper 
sense,  it  will  be  found  absorbing,  informative,  and 
even  helpful. 

Strindberg  never  forgave  his  father  for  having 
married  below  his  station.  He  felt  that  the  good 
blood  of  the  Strindbergs, — respectable  merchants 
and  ministers  and  country  gentlemen, — was 
worsened  by  the  proletarian  strain  imported  into 
it  through  a  working  girl  named  Eleonore  Ulrike 
Norling,  the  mother  of  August  Strindberg  and  his 
eleven  brothers  and  sisters.  During  August's 
childhood  the  family  lived  in  extremely  straitened 
circumstances.  When  a  dozen  people  live  cooped 
up  in  three  rooms,  some  of  them  are  more  than 
likely  to  have  the  joy  of  youth  crushed  out  of 
them  and  crowded  from  the  premises.  Here  was 
the  first  evil  that  darkened  Strindberg's  life:  he 
simply  was  cheated  out  of  his  childhood. 

[81] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

School  was  no  happier  place  for  him  than  home. 
His  inordinate  pride,  only  sharpened  by  the  con- 
sciousness of  his  parents'  poverty  which  bordered 
on  pauperism,  threw  him  into  a  state  of  perpetual 
rebellion  against  comrades  and  teachers.  And  all 
this  time  his  inner  life  was  tossed  hither  and 
thither  by  a  general  intellectual  and  emotional 
restlessness  due  to  an  insatiable  craving  for  knowl- 
edge. At  fifteen  years  of  age  he  had  reached  a  full 
conviction  on  the  irredeemable  evilness  of  life; 
and  concluded,  in  a  moment  of  religious  exalta- 
tion, to  dedicate  his  own  earthly  existence  to  the 
vicarious  expiation  of  universal  sin  through  the 
mortification  of  the  flesh.  Then,  of  a  sudden,  he 
became  a  voracious  reader  of  rationalistic  litera- 
ture, and  turned  atheist  with  almost  inconceivable 
dispatch,  but  soon  was  forced  back  by  remorse 
into  the  pietistic  frame  of  mind, — only  to  pass 
through  another  reaction  immediately  after.  At 
this  time  he  claims  that  earthly  life  is  a  punish- 
ment or  a  probation ;  but  that  it  lies  in  man's  power 
to  make  it  endurable  by  freeing  himself  from  the 
social  restraints.  He  has  become  a  convert  to 
the  fantastic  doctrine  of  Jean  Jacques  Rousseau, 
that  man  is  good  by  nature  but  has  been  depraved 
by  civilization.  Now  in  his  earliest  twenties,  he 

[82] 


August  Strindberg 

embraces  communism  with  all  its  implications, — 
free  love,  state  parenthood,  public  ownership  of 
utilities,  equal  division  of  the  fruits  of  labor,  and 
so  forth, — as  the  sole  and  sure  means  of  salvation 
for  humanity. 

In  the  "Swiss  Stories,"  subtitled  "Utopias  in 
Reality,"  l  Strindberg  demonstrated  to  his  own 
satisfaction  the  smooth  and  practical  workings 
of  that  doctrine.  It  was  difficult  for  him  to  under- 
stand why  the  major  part  of  the  world  seemed  so 
hesitant  about  adopting  so  tempting  and  equitable 
a  scheme  of  living.  Yet,  for  his  own  person,  too, 
he  soon  disavowed  socialism,  because  under  a 
socialistic  regime  the  individual  would  be  liable  to 
have  his  ideas  put  into  uniform,  and  the  remotest 
threat  of  interference  with  his  freedom  of  thought 
was  something  this  fanatical  apostle  of  liberty 
could  not  brook. 

In  the  preface  to  the  "Utopias,"  he  had  re- 
ferred to  himself  as  "a  convinced  socialist,  like  all 
sensible  people" ;  whereas  now  he  writes :  "Ideal- 
ism and  Socialism  are  two  maladies  born  of  lazi- 
ness." Having  thus  scientifically  diagnosed  the 
disease  and  prescribed  the  one  true  specific  for  it, 

1  The  stories  deal  among  other  things  with  the  harmonious 
communal  life  in  Godin's  Phalanstrrr.  Strindberg  wrote  two 
descriptions  of  it,  one  before,  the  other  after  visiting  the  colony. 

[83] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

namely — how  simple! — the  total  abolition  of  the 
industries,  he  resumes  the  preaching  of  Rousseau- 
ism  in  its  simon-pure  form,  orders  every  man  to 
be  his  maid-of-all-work  and  jack-of-all-trades, 
puts  the  world  on  a  vegetarian  diet,  and  then  won- 
ders why  the  socialists  denounce  and  revile  him  as 
a  turncoat  and  an  apostate. 


The  biography  throws  an  especially  vivid  light 
on  Strindberg's  relation  to  one  of  the  most  im- 
portant factors  of  socialism,  to  wit,  the  question 
of  woman's  rights.  His  position  on  this  issue  is 
merely  a  phase  of  that  extreme  and  practically 
isolated  position  in  regard  to  woman  in  general 
that  has  more  than  any  other  single  element  de- 
termined the  feeling  of  the  public  towards  him 
and  by  consequence  fixed  his  place  in  contempo- 
rary literature.  That  this  should  be  so  is  hardly 
unfair,  because  no  other  element  has  entered  so 
deeply  into  the  structure  and  fibre  of  his  thought 
and  feeling. 

Strindberg,  as  has  been  stated,  was  not  from 
the  outset,  or  perchance  constitutionally,  an  anti- 
feminist.  In  "The  Red  Room"  he  preaches  equal- 
ity of  the  sexes  even  in  marriage.  The  thesis  of 
the  book  is  that  man  and  woman  are  not  antago- 
[84] 


August  Strindberg 

nistic  phenomena  of  life,  rather  they  are  modifica- 
tions of  the  same  phenomenon,  made  for  mutual 
completion ;  hence,  they  can  only  fulfill  their  natu- 
ral destiny  through  close  cooperative  comrade- 
ship. But  there  were  two  facts  that  prevented 
Strindberg  from  proceeding  farther  along  this 
line  of  thought.  One  was  his  incorrigible  pro- 
pensity to  contradiction,  the  other  his  excessive 
subjectiveness  which  kept  him  busy  building  up 
theories  on  the  basis  of  personal  experience.  The 
prodigious  feminist  movement  launched  in  Scandi- 
navia by  Ibsen  and  Bjoernson  was  very  repugnant 
to  him,  because  he  felt,  not  without  some  just  rea- 
son, that  the  movement  was  for  a  great  many 
people  little  more  than  a  fad.  So  long  as  art  and 
literature  are  influenced  by  fashion,  so  long  there 
will  be  and  should  be  revolts  against  the  vogue. 
Moreover,  Strindberg  felt  that  the  movement  was 
being  carried  too  far.  He  was  prepared  to  ac- 
company Ibsen  some  distance  on  the  way  of  re- 
form, but  refused  to  subscribe  to  his  verdict  that 
the  whole  blame  for  our  crying  social  maladjust- 
ments rests  with  the  unwillingness  of  men  to  allot 
any  rights  whatsoever  to  women. 

Strindberg's  play,  "Sir  Bengt's  Wife,"  printed 
in  1882,  but  of  much  earlier  origin,  is  interpreted 

[85] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

by  Brandes  as  a  symbolical  portrayal  of  feminine 
life  in  Scandinavia  during  the  author's  early  man- 
hood. The  leading  feminine  figure,  a  creature 
wholly  incapable  of  understanding  or  appreciating 
the  nobler  traits  in  man,  is  nevertheless  treated 
with  sympathy,  on  the  whole.  She  is  represent- 
ed,— like  Selma  Bratsberg  in  Ibsen's  "The  League 
of  Youth,"  and  Nora  Helmer,  in  "A  Doll's 
House," — as  the  typical  and  normal  victim  of  a 
partial  and  unfair  training.  Her  faults  of  judg- 
ment and  errors  of  temper  are  due  to  the  fact  so 
forcefully  descanted  upon  by  Selma,  that  women 
are  not  permitted  to  share  the  interests  and  anx- 
ieties of  their  husbands.  We  are  expressly  in- 
formed by  Strindberg  that  this  drama  was  intend- 
ed, in  the  first  place,  as  an  attack  upon  the  ro- 
mantic proclivities  of  feminine  education;  in  the 
second,  as  an  illustration  of  the  power  of  love  to 
subdue  the  will;  in  the  third,  as  a  defense  of  the 
thesis  that  woman's  love  is  of  a  higher  quality  than 
man's;  and  lastly,  as  a  vindication  of  the  right  of 
woman  to  be  her  own  master.  Again,  in  "Mar- 
ried" he  answers  the  query,  Shall  women  vote? 
distinctly  in  the  affirmative,  although  here  the 
fixed  idea  about  the  congenital  discordance  be- 
tween the  sexes,  and  the  identification  of  love  with 

[86] 


August  Strindberg 

a  struggle  for  supremacy,  has  already  seized  hold 
of  him. 

To  repeat,  there  was  at  first  nothing  absolutely 
preposterous  about  Strindberg's  position  in  regard 
to  the  woman  movement.  On  the  contrary,  his 
view  might  have  been  endorsed  as  a  not  altogether 
unwholesome  corrective  for  the  ruling  fashion  of 
dealing  with  the  issue  by  the  advocacy  of  extremes. 
But  by  force  of  his  supervening  personal  grievance 
against  the  sex,  Strindberg's  anti-feminism  became 
in  the  long  run  the  fixed  pole  about  which  gravi- 
tated his  entire  system  of  social  and  ethical 
thought.  His  campaign  against  feminism,  which 
otherwise  could  have  served  a  good  purpose  by 
curbing  wild  militancy,  was  defeated  by  its  own 
exaggerations.  Granting  that  feminists  had  gone 
too  far  in  the  denunciation  of  male  brutality  and 
despotism,  Strindberg  went  still  farther  in  the  op- 
posite direction,  when  he  deliberately  set  out  to 
lay  bare  the  character  of  woman  by  dissecting 
some  of  her  most  diabolical  incarnations.  As  has 
already  been  said,  he  was  utterly  incapable  of 
objective  thinking,  and  under  the  sting  of  his 
miseries  in  love  and  marriage,  dislike  of  woman 
turned  into  hatred  and  hatred  into  frenzy.  Hence- 
forth, the  entire  spectacle  of  life  presented  itself 

[87] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

to  his  distorted  vision  as  a  perpetual  state  of  war 
between  the  sexes:  on  the  one  side  he  saw  the 
male,  strong  of  mind  and  heart,  but  in  the  generos- 
ity of  strength  guileless  and  over-trustful;  on  the 
other  side,  the  female,  weak  of  body  and  intellect, 
but  shrewd  enough  to  exploit  her  frailness  by  link- 
ing iniquity  to  impotence  and  contriving  by  her 
treacherous  cunning  to  enslave  her  natural  su- 
perior:— it  is  the  story  of  Samson  and  Delilah 
made  universal  in  its  application.  Love  is  shown 
up  as  the  trap  in  which  man  is  caught  to  be  shorn 
of  his  power.  The  case  against  woman  is  classic- 
ally drawn  up  in  "The  Father,"  one  of  the 
strangest  and  at  the  same  time  most  powerful 
tragedies  of  Strindberg.  The  principals  of  the 
plot  stand  for  the  typical  character  difference  be- 
tween the  sexes  as  Strindberg  sees  it ;  the  man  being 
kind-hearted,  good-natured,  and  aspiring,  whereas 
the  woman,  setting  an  example  for  all  his  succeed- 
ing portraits  of  women,  is  cunning,  though  unin- 
telligent and  coarse-grained,  soulless,  yet  insanely 
ambitious  and  covetous  of  power.  In  glaring  con- 
trast to  the  situation  made  so  familiar  by  Ibsen, 
we  here  see  the  man  struggling  away  from  the 
clutches  of  a  woman  who  declares  frankly  that 
she  has  never  looked  at  a  man  without  feeling 
[88] 


August  Strindberg 

conscious  of  her  superiority  over  him.  In  this 
play  the  man,  a  person  of  ideals  and  real  ability, 
who  is  none  other  than  Strindberg  himself  in  one 
of  his  matrimonial  predicaments,  fails  to  extricate 
himself  from  the  snare,  and  ends — both  literally 
and  figuratively — by  being  put  into  the  strait- 
jacket. 

Without  classing  Strindberg  as  one  of  the  great 
world  dramatists,  it  would  be  narrow-minded, 
after  experiencing  the  gripping  effect  of  some  of 
his  plays,  to  deny  them  due  recognition,  for  in- 
deed they  would  be  remarkable  for  their  per- 
spicacity and  penetration,  even  if  they  were  de- 
void of  any  value  besides.  They  contain  the  keen- 
est analyses  ever  made  of  the  vicious  side  of  fem- 
inine character,  obtained  by  specializing,  as  it  were, 
on  the  more  particularly  feminine  traits  of  human 
depravity.  Assuredly  the  procedure  is  onesided, 
but  the  delineation  of  a  single  side  of  life  is  be- 
yond peradventure  a  legitimate  artistic  enterprise 
as  long  as  it  is  not  palmed  upon  us  as  an  accurate 
and  complete  picture.  Unfortunately,  Strindberg' s 
abnormal  vision  falsifies  the  things  he  looks  at, 
and,  being  steeped  in  his  insuperable  prejudice,  his 
pictures  of  life,  in  spite  of  the  partial  veracity  they 
possess,  never  rise  above  the  level  of  caricatures. 

[89] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

He  was  incompetent  to  pass  judgment  upon  an 
individual  woman  separately;  to  him  all  women 
were  alike,  and  that  means,  all  unmitigatedly  bad! 
To  the  objection  raised  by  one  of  the  characters 
in  "The  Father" :  "Oh,  there  are  so  many  kinds 
of  women,"  the  author's  mouthpiece  makes  this 
clinching  answer:  "Modern  investigation  has  pro- 
nounced that  there  is  only  one  kind." 

The  autobiography  of  Strindberg  is  largely  in- 
spired by  his  unreasoning  hatred  of  women;  the 
result,  in  the  main,  of  his  three  unfortunate  ven- 
tures into  the  uncongenial  field  of  matrimony.  In 
its  first  part,  the  account  of  his  life  is  not  without 
some  traces  of  healthy  humor,  but  as  the  story 
progresses,  his  entire  philosophy  of  life  becomes 
more  and  more  aberrant  under  the  increasing  pres- 
sure of  that  obsession.  He  gets  beside  himself 
at  the  mere  mention  of  anything  feminine,  and 
blindly  hits  away,  let  his  bludgeon  land  where  it 
will;  logic,  common  sense,  and  common  decency 
go  to  the  floor  before  his  vehement  and  brutal 
assault.  Every  woman  is  a  born  liar  and  traitor. 
Her  sole  aim  in  life  is  to  thrive  parasitically  upon 
the  revenue  of  her  favors.  Since  marriage  and 
prostitution  cannot  provide  a  living  for  all,  the 
oversupply  now  clamor  for  admission  to  the  work- 

[90] 


August  Strindberg 

mart;  but  they  are  incompetent  and  lazy,  and  in- 
veterate shirkers  of  responsibility.  With  triumph- 
ant malice  he  points  to  the  perfidious  readiness  of 
woman  to  perform  her  tasks  by  proxy,  that  is,  to 
delegate  them  to  hired  substitutes:  her  children  are 
tended  and  taught  by  governesses  and  teachers; 
her  garments  are  made  by  dressmakers  and  seam- 
stresses; the  duties  of  her  household  she  unloads 
on  servants, — and  from  selfish  considerations  of 
vanity,  comfort,  and  love  of  pleasure,  she  with- 
draws even  from  the  primary  maternal  obligation 
and  lets  her  young  be  nourished  at  the  breast  of  a 
stranger.  Strindberg  in  his  rage  never  stops  to 
think  that  the  deputies  in  these  cases, — cooks  and 
housemaids  and  nurses  and  so  forth, — themselves 
belong  to  the  female  sex,  by  which  fact  the  im- 
peachment is  in  large  part  invalidated. 

The  play  bearing  the  satirical  title  "Comrades" 
makes  a  special  application  of  the  theory  about 
the  pre-established  antagonism  of  the  sexes.  In 
a  situation  similar  to  that  in  "The  Father,"  hus- 
band and  wife  are  shown  in  a  yet  sharper  antith- 
esis of  character:  a  man  of  sterling  character 
and  ability  foiled  by  a  woman  in  all  respects  his 
inferior,  yet  imperiously  determined  to  dominate 
him.  At  first  she  seems  to  succeed  in  her  ambi- 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

tion,  and  in  the  same  measure  as  she  assumes  a 
more  and  more  mannish  demeanor,  the  husband's 
behavior  grows  more  and  more  effeminate.  But 
the  contest  leads  to  results  opposite  to  those  in 
"The  Father."  Here,  the  man,  once  he  is  brought 
to  a  full  realization  of  his  plight,  arouses  himself 
from  his  apathy,  reasserts  his  manhood,  and,  in 
the  ensuing  fight  for  supremacy,  routs  the  usurper 
and  comes  into  his  own.  The  steps  by  which  he 
passes  through  revolt  from  subjection  to  self- 
liberation,  are  cleverly  signaled  by  his  outward 
transformation,  as  he  abandons  the  womanish 
style  of  dressing  imposed  on  him  by  his  wife's 
whim  and  indignantly  flings  into  a  corner  the  fem- 
inine costume  which  she  would  make  him  wear  at 
the  ball. 


Leaving  aside,  then,  all  question  as  to  their  ar- 
tistic value,  Strindberg's  dramas  are  deserving  of 
attention  as  experiments  in  a  fairly  unexplored 
field  of  analytic  psychology.  They  are  the  first 
literary  creations  of  any  great  importance  begot- 
ten by  such  bitter  hatred  of  woman.  The  anti- 
feminism  of  Strindberg's  predecessors,  not  except- 
ing that  arch-misogynist,  Arthur  Schopenhauer 
himself,  sprang  from  contempt,  not  from  abhor- 


August  Strindberg 

rence  and  abject  fear.  In  Strindberg,  misogyny 
turns  into  downright  gynophobia.  To  him,  woman 
is  not  an  object  of  disdain,  but  the  cruel  and  mer- 
ciless persecutor  of  man.  In  order  to  disclose  the 
most  dangerous  traits  of  the  feminine  soul,  Strind- 
berg dissects  it  by  a  method  that  corresponds 
closely  to  Ibsen's  astonishing  demonstration  of 
masculine  viciousness.  The  wide-spread  dislike 
for  Strindberg's  dramas  is  due,  in  equal  parts,  to 
the  detestableness  of  his  male  characters,  and  to 
the  optimistic  disbelief  of  the  general  public  in  the 
reality  of  womanhood  as  he  represents  it.  Strind- 
berg's portraiture  of  the  sex  appears  as  a  mon- 
strous slander,  principally  because  no  other  painter 
has  ever  placed  the  model  into  the  same  disad- 
vantageous light,  and  the  authenticity  of  his  pic- 
tures is  rendered  suspicious  by  their  abnormal  fam- 
ily resemblance.  He  was  obsessed  with  the  petri- 
fying vision  of  a  uniform  cruel  selfishness  staring 
out  of  every  woman's  face:  countess,  courtezan, 
or  kitchen  maid,  all  are  cast  in  the  same  gorgon 
mold. 

Strindberg's  aversion  towards  women  was  prob- 
ably kindled  into  action,  as  has  already  been  in- 
timated, by  his  disgust  at  the  sudden  irruption  of 
woman  worship  into  literature;  but,  as  has  also 

[93] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

been  made  clear,  only  the  disillusionments  and 
grievances  of  his  private  experience  hardened  that 
aversion  into  implacable  hatred.  At  first  he  simply 
declined  to  ally  himself  with  the  feminist  cult,  be- 
cause the  women  he  knew  seemed  unworthy  of 
being  worshipped, — little  vain  dolls,  frivolous  co- 
quettes, and  pedants  given  to  domestic  tyranny, 
of  such  the  bulk  was  made  up.  Under  the  mad- 
dening spur  of  his  personal  misfortunes,  his  feel- 
ing passed  from  weariness  to  detestation,  from 
detestation  to  a  bitter  mixture  of  fear  and  furious 
hate.  He  conceived  it  as  his  supreme  mission 
and  central  purpose  in  life  to  unmask  the  demon 
with  the  angel's  face,  to  tear  the  drapings  from 
the  idol  and  expose  to  view  the  hideous  ogress  that 
feeds  on  the  souls  of  men.  Woman,  in  Strind- 
berg's  works,  is  a  bogy,  constructed  out  of  the 
vilest  ingredients  that  enter  into  the  composition 
of  human  nature,  with  a  kind  of  convulsive  life 
infused  by  a  remnant  of  great  artistic  power.  And 
this  grewsome  fabric  of  a  diseased  imagination, 
like  Frankenstein's  monster,  wreaks  vengeance  on 
its  maker.  His  own  mordant  desire  for  her  is  the 
lash  that  drives  him  irresistibly  to  his  destruction. 
It  requires  no  profound  psychologic  insight  to 
divine  in  this  odious  chimera  the  deplorable  abor- 
[94] 


August  Strindberg 

tion  of  a  fine  ideal.  The  distortion  of  truth  ema- 
nates in  Strindberg's  work,  as  it  does  in  any  sig- 
nificant satire  or  caricature,  from  indignation  over 
the  contrast  between  a  lofty  conception  and  a 
disappointing  reality.  What,  after  all,  can  be  the 
mission  of  this  hard-featured  gallery  of  females, — 
peevish,  sullen,  impudent,  grasping,  violent,  lecher- 
ous, malignant,  and  vindictive, — if  it  is  not  to  mark 
pravity  and  debasement  with  a  stigma  in  the  name 
of  a  pure  and  noble  womanhood? 


It  should  not  be  left  unmentioned  that  we  owe 
to  August  Strindberg  some  works  of  great  perfec- 
tion fairly  free  from  the  black  obsession  and  with 
a  constructive  and  consistently  idealistic  tendency : 
splendid  descriptions  of  a  quaint  people  and  their 
habitat,  tinged  with  a  fine  sense  of  humor,  as  in 
"The  Hemsoe-Dwellers" ;  charming  studies  of 
landscape  and  of  floral  and  animal  life,  in  the 
"Portraits  of  Flowers  and  Animals" ;  the  colossal 
work  on  the  Swedish  People,  once  before  referred 
to,  a  history  conceived  and  executed  in  a  thorough- 
ly modern  scientific  spirit;  two  volumes  of  "Swe- 
dish Fortunes  and  Adventures";  most  of  his  his- 
toric dramas  also  are  of  superior  order.  But 
these  works  lie  outside  the  scope  of  the  more  spe- 

[95] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

cific  discussion  of  Strindberg  as  a  mystic  and  an 
eccentric  to  which  this  sketch  is  devoted.  We  may 
conclude  by  briefly  considering  the  final  phases  of 
Strindberg's  checkered  intellectual  career,  and  by 
summing  up  his  general  significance  for  the  age. 

It  will  be  recalled  that  during  the  middle  period 
of  his  life,  (in  1888),  Strindberg  came  into  per- 
sonal touch  with  Nietzsche.  The  effect  of  the  lat- 
ter's  sensational  philosophy  is  clearly  perceptible 
in  the  works  of  that  period,  notably  in  "Tschan- 
dala"  and  "By  the  Open  Sea."  Evidently,  Nietz- 
sche, at  first,  was  very  congenial  to  him.  For 
both  men  were  extremely  aristocratic  in  their  in- 
stincts. For  a  while,  Strindberg  endorsed  un- 
qualifiedly the  heterodox  ethics  of  the  towering 
paranoiac.  For  one  thing,  that  philosophy  supplied 
fresh  food  and  fuel  to  his  burning  rage  against 
womankind,  and  that  was  enough  to  bribe  him  into 
swallowing,  for  the  time  being,  the  entire  sub- 
stance of  Nietzsche's  fantastic  doctrine.  He  took 
the  same  ground  as  Nietzsche,  that  the  race  had 
deteriorated  in  consequence  of  its  sentimentality, 
namely  through  the  systematic  protection  of  physi- 
cal and  mental  inferiority  and  unchecked  procrea- 
tion of  weaklings.  He  seconded  Nietzsche's  mo- 
tion that  society  should  exterminate  its  parasites, 
[96] 


August  Strindberg 

instead  of  pampering  them.  Mankind  can  only 
be  reinvigorated  if  the  strong  and  healthy  are 
helped  to  come  into  their  own.  The  dreams  of  the 
pacifists  are  fatal  to  the  pragmatic  virtues  and  to 
the  virility  of  the  race.  The  greatest  need  is  an 
aggressive  campaign  for  the  moral  and  intellectual 
sanitation  of  the  world.  So  let  the  brain  rule  over 
the  heart, — and  so  forth  in  the  same  strain. 

Very  soon,  however,  Strindberg  passed  out  of 
the  sphere  of  Nietzsche's  influence.  The  aliena- 
tion was  due  as  much  to  his  general  instability  as 
to  the  disparity  between  his  pessimistic  temper  and 
the  joyous  exaltation  of  Zarathustra-ism.  His 
striking  reversion  to  orthodoxy  was  by  no  means 
illogical.  Between  pessimism  and  faith  there  ex- 
ists a  relation  that  is  not  very  far  to  seek.  When 
a  person  has  forfeited  his  peace  of  soul  and  can- 
not find  grace  before  his  own  conscience,  he  might 
clutch  as  a  last  hope  the  promise  of  vicarious  re- 
demption. Extending  the  significance  of  his  own 
personal  experience  to  everything  within  his  hori- 
zon, and  erecting  a  dogmatic  system  upon  this 
tenuous  generalization,  Strindberg  reached  the 
conviction  that  the  purpose  of  living  is  to  suffer, 
a  conviction  that  threw  his  philosophy  well  into 
line  with  the  religious  and  ethical  ideas  of  the 

[97] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

middle  age.  Yet  even  at  this  juncture  his  cynicism 
did  not  desert  him,  as  witness  this  comment  of  his : 
"Religion  must  be  a  punishment,  because  nobody 
gets  religion  who  does  not  have  a  bad  conscience." 
This  avowal  preceded  his  saltatory  approach  to 
Roman  Catholicism. 

In  the  later  volumes  of  his  autobiography  he 
minutely  describes  the  successive  crises  through 
which  he  passed  in  his  agonizing  search  for  certi- 
tude and  salvation  before  his  spirit  found  rest  in 
the  idea  of  Destiny  which  formerly  to  him  was 
synonymous  with  Fate  and  now  became  synony- 
mous with  Providence.  "Inferno"  pictures  his  ex- 
istence as  a  protracted  and  unbroken  nightmare. 
He  turned  determinist,  then  fatalist,  then  mystic. 
The  most  trifling  incidents  of  his  daily  life  were 
spelt  out  according  to  Swedenborg's  "Science  of 
Correspondences"  and  thereby  assumed  a  deep 
and  terrifying  significance.  In  the  most  trivial 
events,  such  as  the  opening  or  shutting  of  a  door, 
or  the  curve  etched  by  a  raindrop  on  a  dusty  pane 
of  glass,  he  perceived  intimations  from  the  occult 
power  that  directed  his  life.  Into  the  most  ordi- 
nary occurrence  of  the  day  he  read  a  divine  order, 
or  threat,  or  chastisement.  He  was  tormented 
by  terrible  dreams  and  visions;  in  the  guise  of 
[9B] 


August  Strindberg 

ferocious  beasts,  his  own  sins  agonized  his  flesh. 
And  in  the  midst  of  all  these  tortures  he  studied 
and  practised  the  occult  arts:  magic,  astrology, 
necromancy,  alchemy;  he  concocted  gold  by  her- 
metical  science!  To  all  appearances  utterly  de- 
ranged, he  was  still  lucid  enough  at  intervals  to 
carry  on  chemical,  botanical,  and  physiological  ex- 
periments of  legitimate  worth.  Then  his  reason 
cleared  up  once  again  and  put  a  sudden  end  to  an 
episode  which  he  has  described  in  these  words: 
"To  go  in  quest  of  God  and  to  find  the  devil, — 
that  is  what  happened  to  me." 

He  took  leave  of  Swedenborg  as  he  had  taken 
leave  of  Nietzsche,  yet  retained  much  gratitude 
for  him ;  the  great  Scandinavian  seer  had  brought 
him  back  to  God,  so  he  averred,  even  though  the 
conversion  was  effected  by  picturings  of  horror. 

"Legends,"  the  further  continuation  of  his  self- 
history,  shows  him  vividly  at  his  closest  contact 
with  the  Catholic  Church.  But  the  most  satisfac- 
tory portion  of  the  autobiography  from  a  human 
point  of  view,  and  from  a  literary  point  perhaps 
altogether  the  best  thing  Strindberg  has  done,  is 
the  closing  book  of  the  series,  entitled  "Alone." 
He  wrote  it  at  the  age  of  fifty,  during  a  period  of 
comparative  tranquillity  of  mind,  and  that  fact  is 

[99] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

manifested  by  the  composure  and  moderation  of 
its  style.  Now  at  last  his  storm-tossed  soul  seems 
to  have  found  a  haven.  He  accepts  his  destiny, 
and  resigns  himself  to  believing,  since  knowledge 
is  barred. 

But  even  this  state  of  serenity  harbored  no  per- 
manent peace;  it  signified  merely  a  temporary  sus- 
pension of  those  terrific  internal  combats. 

In  Strindberg's  case,  religious  conversion  is  not 
an  edifying,  but  on  the  contrary  a  morbid  and  sad- 
dening spectacle;  it  is  equal  to  a  declaration  of 
complete  spiritual  bankruptcy.  He  turns  to  the 
church  after  finding  all  other  pathways  to  God 
blocked.  His  type  of  Christianity  does  not  hang 
together  with  the  labors  and  struggles  of  his 
secular  life.  A  break  with  his  past  can  be  denied 
to  no  man;  least  of  all  to  a  leader  of  men.  Only, 
if  he  has  deserted  the  old  road,  he  should  be  able 
to  lead  in  the  new;  he  must  have  a  new  message 
if  he  sees  fit  to  cancel  the  old.  Strindberg,  how- 
ever, has  nothing  to  offer  at  the  end.  He  stands 
before  us  timorous  and  shrinking,  the  accuser  of 
his  fellows  turned  self-accuser,  a  beggar  stretch- 
ing forth  empty,  trembling  hands  imploring  for- 
giveness of  his  sins  and  the  salvation  of  his  soul 
through  gracious  mediation.  His  moral  assevera- 
[100] 


August  Strindberg 

tions  are  either  blank  truisms,  or  intellectual  aber- 
rations. Strindberg  has  added  nothing  to  the  stock 
of  human  understanding.  A  preacher,  of  course, 
is  not  in  duty  bound  to  generate  original  thought. 
Indeed  if  such  were  to  be  exacted,  our  pulpits 
would  soon  be  as  sparsely  peopled  as  already  are 
the  pews.  Ministers  who  are  wondering  hard 
why  so  many  people  stay  away  from  church  might 
well  stop  to  consider  whether  the  reason  is  not 
that  a  large  portion  of  mankind  has  already  se- 
cured, theoretically,  a  religious  or  ethical  basis  of 
life  more  or  less  identical  with  the  one  which 
churches  content  themselves  with  offering.  The 
greatest  religious  teacher  of  modern  times,  Leo 
Tolstoy,  was  not  by  any  means  a  bringer  of  new 
truths.  The  true  secret  of  the  tremendous  power 
which  nevertheless  he  wielded  over  the  souls  of 
men  was  that  he  extended  the  practical  applica- 
tion of  what  he  believed.  If,  therefore,  we  look 
for  a  lesson  in  Strindberg's  life  as  recited  by  him- 
self, we  shall  not  find  it  in  his  religious  conversion. 


Taken  in  its  entirety,  his  voluminous  yet  frag- 
mentary life  history  is  one  of  the  most  painful 
human  documents  on   record.     One   can   hardly 
peruse  it  without  asking:  Was  Strindberg  insane? 
[101] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

It  is  a  question  which  he  often  put  to  himself 
when  remorse  and  self-reproach  gnawed  at  his 
conscience  and  when  he  fancied  himself  scorned 
and  persecuted  by  all  his  former  friends.  "Why 
are  you  so  hated?"  he  asks  himself  in  one  of  his 
dialogues,  and  this  is  his  answer:  "I  could  not 
endure  to  see  mankind  suffer,  and  so  I  said  and 
wrote :  'Free  yourselves,  I  shall  help.'  And  so  I 
said  to  the  poor:  'Do  not  let  the  rich  suck  your 
blood.'  And  to  woman :  'Do  not  let  man  oppress 
you.'  And  to  the  children:  'Do  not  obey  your 
parents  if  they  are  unjust.'  The  consequences, — 
well,  they  are  quite  incomprehensible;  for  of  a 
sudden  I  had  both  sides  against  me,  rich  and  poor, 
men  and  women,  parents  and  children;  add  to 
that  sickness  and  poverty,  disgraceful  pauperism, 
my  divorce,  lawsuits,  exile,  loneliness,  and  now,  to 
top  the  climax, — do  you  believe  that  I  am  insane?" 
From  his  ultra-subjective  point  of  view,  the  ex- 
planation here  given  of  the  total  collapse  of  his 
fortunes  is  fairly  accurate,  at  least  in  the  essential 
aspects.  Still,  many  great  men  have  been  pur- 
sued by  a  similar  conflux  of  calamities.  Over- 
whelming misfortunes  are  the  surest  test  of  man- 
hood. How  high  a  person  bears  up  his  head  under 
the  blows  of  fate  is  the  best  gage  of  his  stature. 
[102] 


August  Strindberg 

But  Strindberg,  in  spite  of  his  colossal  physique, 
was  not  cast  in  the  heroic  mold.  The  breakdown 
of  his  fortunes  caused  him  to  turn  traitor  to  him- 
self, to  recant  and  destroy  his  intellectual  past. 

Whether  he  was  actually  insane  is  a  question  for 
psychiaters  to  settle ;  normal  he  certainly  was  not. 
In  medical  opinion  his  modes  of  reacting  to  the 
obstructions  and  difficulties  of  the  daily  life  were 
conclusively  symptomatic  of  neurasthenia.  Cer- 
tain obsessive  ideas  and  idiosyncracies  of  his, 
closely  bordering  upon  phobia,  would  seem  to  in- 
dicate grave  psychic  disorder.  His  temper  and 
his  world-view  were  indicative  of  hypochondria: 
he  perceived  only  the  hostile,  never  the  friendly, 
aspects  of  events,  people,  and  phenomena.  De- 
jectedly he  declares:  "There  is  falseness  even  in 
the  calm  air  and  the  sunshine,  and  I  feel  that  hap- 
piness has  no  place  in  my  lot." 

Destiny  had  assembled  within  him  all  the  doubts 
and  pangs  of  the  modern  soul,  but  had  neglected 
to  counterpoise  them  with  positive  and  constructive 
convictions;  so  that  when  his  small  store  of  hopes 
and  prospects  was  exhausted,  he  broke  down  from 
sheer  hollowness  of  heart.  He  died  a  recluse,  a 
penitent,  and  a  renegade  to  all  his  past  ideas  and 
persuasions. 

[103] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

Evidently,  with  his  large  assortment  of  defects 
both  of  character  and  of  intellect,  Strindberg 
could  not  be  classed  as  one  of  the  great  construc- 
tive minds  of  our  period.  Viewed  In  his  social 
importance,  he  will  interest  future  students  of 
morals  chiefly  as  an  agitator,  a  polemist,  and  in 
a  fashion,  too,  as  a  prophet;  by  his  uniquely  ag- 
gressive veracity,  he  rendered  a  measure  of  valu- 
able service  to  his  time. 

But  viewed  as  a  creative  writer,  both  of  drama 
and  fiction,  he  has  an  incontestable  claim  to  our 
lasting  attention.  His  work  shows  artistic  ability, 
even  though  it  rarely  attains  to  greatness  and  is 
frequently  marred  by  the  bizarre  qualities  of  his 
style.  Presumably  his  will  be  a  permanent  place 
in  the  history  of  literature,  principally  because  of 
the  extraordinary  subjective  animation  of  his  work. 
And  perhaps  in  times  less  depressed  than  ours 
its  gloominess  may  act  as  a  valuable  antidote  upon 
the  popular  prejudice  against  being  serious.  His 
artistic  profession  of  faith  certainly  should  save 
him  from  wholesale  condemnation.  He  says  in 
one  of  his  prefaces:  "Some  people  have  accused 
my  tragedy  of  being  too  sad,  as  though  one  de- 
sired a  merry  tragedy.  People  clamor  for  En- 
joyment as  though  Enjoyment  consisted  in  being 
[104] 


August  Strindberg 

foolish.  I  find  enjoyment  in  the  powerful  and 
terrible  struggles  of  life;  and  the  capability  of 
experiencing  something,  of  learning  something, 
gives  me  pleasure." 

The  keynote  to  his  literary  productions  is  the 
cry  of  the  agony  of  being.  Every  line  of  his 
works  is  written  in  the  shadow  of  the  sorrow  of 
living.  In  them,  all  that  is  most  dismal  and  terri- 
fying and  therefore  most  tragical,  becomes  articu- 
late. They  are  propelled  by  an  abysmal  pessi- 
mism, and  because  of  this  fact,  since  pessimism  is 
one  of  the  mightiest  inspiring  forces  in  literature, 
August  Strindberg,  its  foremost  spokesman,  de- 
serves to  be  read  and  understood. 


[105] 


FRIEDRICH  NIETZSCHE 


Ill 

THE   EXALTATION  OF  FRIEDRICH   NIETZSCHE 

IN  these  embattled  times  it  is  perfectly  natural 
to  expect  from  any  discourse  on  Nietzsche's 
philosophy  first  of  all  a  statement  concerning 
the   relation  of  that  troublesome  genius  to  the 
origins  of  the  war;  and  this  demand  prompts  a  few 
candid  words  on  that  aspect  of  the  subject  at  the 
start. 

For  more  than  three  years  the  public  has  been 
persistently  taught  by  the  press  to  think  of  Fried- 
rich  Nietzsche  mainly  as  the  powerful  promoter 
of  a  systematic  national  movement  of  the  German 
people  for  the  conquest  of  the  world.  But  there 
is  strong  and  definite  internal  evidence  in  the  writ- 
ings of  Nietzsche  against  the  assumption  that  he 
intentionally  aroused  a  spirit  of  war  or  aimed  in 
any  way  at  the  world-wide  preponderance  of  Ger- 
many's type  of  civilization.  Nietzsche  had  a  tem- 
peramental loathing  for  everything  that  is  brutal, 
a  loathing  which  was  greatly  intensified  by  his 
[109] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

personal  contact  with  the  horrors  of  war  while 
serving  as  a  military  nurse  in  the  campaign  of 
1 870.  If  there  were  still  any  one  senseless  enough 
to  plead  the  erstwhile  popular  cause  of  Pan-Ger- 
manism, he  would  be  likely  to  find  more  support 
for  his  argument  in  the  writings  of  the  de-gal- 
lisized  Frenchman,  Count  Joseph  Arthur  Gobi- 
neau,  or  of  the  germanized  Englishman,  Houston 
Stewart  Chamberlain,  than  in  those  of  the  "her- 
mit of  Maria-Sils,"  who  does  not  even  suggest,  let 
alone  advocate,  German  world-predominance  in 
a  single  line  of  all  his  writings.  To  couple  Fried- 
rich  Nietzsche  with  Heinrich  von  Treitschke  as 
the  latter' s  fellow  herald  of  German  ascendancy 
is  truly  preposterous.  Treitschke  himself  was  bit- 
terly and  irreconcilably  set  against  the  creator  of 
Zarathustra,1  in  whom  ever  since  "Unzeitgemasse 
Betrachtungen"  he  had  divined  "the  good  Euro- 
pean,"— which  to  the  author  of  the  Deutsche 
Geschichte  meant  the  bad  Prussian,  and  by  conse- 
quence the  bad  German. 

As  a  consummate  individualist  and  by  the  same 
token  a  cosmopolite  to  the  full,  Nietzsche  was  the 
last  remove  from  national,  or  strictly  speaking 

1  As  is  convincingly  pointed  out  in  a  footnote  of  J.  A.  Cramb's 
"Germany  and  England." 

[IIOJ 


Friedrich  Nietzsche 

even  from  racial,  jingoism.  Even  the  imputation 
of  ordinary  patriotic  sentiments  would  have  been 
resented  by  him  as  an  insult,  for  such  sentiments 
were  to  him  a  sure  symptom  of  that  gregarious 
disposition  which  was  so  utterly  abhorrent  to  his 
feelings.  In  his  German  citizenhood  he  took  no 
pride  whatsoever.  On  every  occasion  that  offered 
he  vented  in  mordant  terms  his  contempt  for  the 
country  of  his  birth,  boastfully  proclaiming  his  own 
derivation  from  alien  stock.  He  bemoaned  his 
fate  of  having  to  write  for  Germans;  averring 
that  people  who  drank  beer  and  smoked  pipes 
were  hopelessly  incapable  of  understanding  him. 
Of  this  extravagance  in  denouncing  his  countrymen 
the  following  account  by  one  of  his  keenest  Ameri- 
can interpreters  gives  a  fair  idea.  "No  epithet 
was  too  outrageous,  no  charge  was  too  farfetched, 
no  manipulation  or  interpretation  of  evidence  was 
too  daring  to  enter  into  his  ferocious  indictment. 
He  accused  the  Germans  of  stupidity,  supersti- 
tiousness,  and  silliness;  of  a  chronic  weakness  of 
dodging  issues,  a  fatuous  'barn-yard'  and  'green- 
pasture'  contentment,  of  yielding  supinely  to  the 
commands  and  exactions  of  a  clumsy  and  unintelli- 
gent government;  of  degrading  education  to  the 
low  level  of  mere  cramming  and  examination  pass- 
[in] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

ing;  of  a  congenital  inability  to  understand  and  ab- 
sorb the  culture  of  other  peoples,  and  particularly 
the  culture  of  the  French ;  of  a  boorish  bumptious- 
ness, and  an  ignorant,  ostrichlike  complacency;  of 
a  systematic  hostility  to  men  of  genius,  whether 
in  art,  science,  or  philosophy;  of  a  slavish  devo- 
tion to  the  two  great  European  narcotics,  alcohol 
and  Christianity;  of  a  profound  beeriness,  a  spirit- 
ual dyspepsia,  a  puerile  mysticism,  an  old-woman- 
ish pettiness,  and  an  ineradicable  liking  for  the 
obscure,  evolving,  crepuscular,  damp,  and  shroud- 
ed." x  It  certainly  requires  a  violent  twist  of  logic 
to  hold  this  catalogue  of  invectives  responsible  for 
the  transformation  of  a  sluggish  and  indolent 
bourgeoisie  into  a  "Volk  in  Waffen"  unified  by  an 
indomitable  and  truculent  rapacity. 

Neither  should  Nietzsche's  general  condemna- 
tion of  mild  and  tender  forbearance — on  the 
ground  that  it  blocks  the  purpose  of  nature — be  in- 
terpreted as  a  call  to  universal  militancy.  By  his 
ruling  it  is  only  supermen  that  are  privileged  to 
carry  their  will  through.  But  undeniably  he 
does  teach  that  the  world  belongs  to  the  strong. 
They  may  grab  it  at  any  temporary  loss  to  the 

1  H.  L.  Mencken,  "The  Mailed  Fist  and  Its  Prophet."    Atlantic 
Monthly,  November,   1914. 

[112] 


Friedrich  Nietzsche 

common  run  of  humanity  and,  if  need  be,  with 
sanguinary  force,  since  their  will  is,  ulteriorly, 
identical  with  the  cosmic  purpose. 

Of  course  this  is  preaching  war  of  some  sort, 
but  Nietzsche  was  not  in  favor  of  war  on  ethnic 
or  ethical  grounds,  like  that  fanatical  militarist, 
General  von  Bernhardi,  whom  the  great  mass  of 
his  countrymen  in  the  time  before  the  war  would 
have  bluntly  rejected  as  their  spokesman.  Any- 
way, Nietzsche  did  not  mean  to  encourage  Ger- 
many to  subjugate  the  rest  of  the  world.  He  even 
deprecated  her  victory  in  the  bloody  contest  of 
1870,  because  he  thought  that  it  had  brought  on 
a  form  of  material  prosperity  of  which  internal 
decay  and  the  collapse  of  intellectual  and  spiritual 
ideals  were  the  unfortunate  concomitants.  At  the 
same  time,  the  universal  decreptitude  prevented 
the  despiser  of  his  own  people  from  conceiving  a 
decided  preference  for  some  other  country.  He 
held  that  all  European  nations  were  progressing 
in  the  wrong  direction, — the  deadweight  of  exag- 
gerated and  misshapen  materialism  dragged  them 
back  and  down.  English  life  he  deemed  almost 
irredeemably  clogged  by  utilitarianism.  Even 
France,  the  only  modern  commonwealth  credited 
by  Nietzsche  with  an  indigenous  culture,  was  gov- 
[II31 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

erned  by  what  he  stigmatizes  as  the  life  philosophy 
of  the  shopkeeper.  Nietzsche  is  destitute  of  na- 
tional ideals.  In  fact  he  never  thinks  in  terms  of 
politics.  He  aims  to  be  "a  good  European,  not  a 
good  German."  In  his  aversion  to  the  extant 
order  of  society  he  never  for  a  moment  advocates, 
like  Rousseau  or  Tolstoy,  a  breach  with  civiliza- 
tion. Cataclysmic  changes  through  anarchy,  rev- 
olution, and  war  were  repugnant  to  his  ideals  of 
culture.  For  two  thousand  years  the  races  of 
Europe  had  toiled  to  humanize  themselves,  school 
their  character,  equip  their  minds,  refine  their 
tastes.  Could  any  sane  reformer  have  calmly  con- 
templated the  possible  engulfment  in  another 
Saturnian  age  of  the  gains  purchased  by  that 
enormous  expenditure  of  human  labor?  Accord- 
ing to  Nietzsche's  conviction,  the  new  dispensation 
could  not  be  entered  in  a  book  of  blank  pages.  A 
higher  civilization  could  only  be  reared  upon  a 
lower.  So  it  seems  that  he  is  quite  wrongly  ac- 
cused of  having  been  an  "accessory  before  the 
deed,"  in  any  literal  or  legal  sense,  to  the  stupen- 
dous international  struggle  witnessed  to-day.  And 
we  may  pass  on  to  consider  in  what  other  way  he 
was  a  vital  factor  of  modern  social  development. 
For  whatever  we  may  think  of  the  political  value 
[H4] 


Friedrich  Nietzsche 

of  his  teachings,  it  is  impossible  to  deny  their 
arousing  and  inspiriting  effect  upon  the  intellectual, 
moral,  and  artistic  faculties  of  his  epoch  and  ours. 


It  should  be  clearly  understood  that  the  signifi- 
cance of  Nietzsche  for  our  age  is  not  to  be  ex- 
plained by  any  weighty  discovery  in  the  realm  of 
knowledge.  Nietzsche's  merit  consists  not  in  any 
unriddling  of  the  universe  by  a  metaphysical  key 
to  its  secrets,  but  rather  in  the  diffusion  of  a  new 
intellectual  light  elucidating  human  consciousness 
in  regard  to  the  purpose  and  the  end  of  existence.. 
Nietzsche  has  no  objective  truths  to  teach,  indeed 
he  acknowledges  no  truth  other  than  subjective. 
Nor  does  he  put  any  faith  in  bare  logic,  but  on 
the  contrary  pronounces  it  one  of  mankind's  great- 
est misfortunes.  His  argumentation  is  not  sus- 
tained and  progressive,  but  desultory,  impression- 
istic, and  freely  repetitional;  slashing  aphorism 
is  its  most  effective  tool.  And  so,  in  the  sense  of 
the  schools,  he  is  not  a  philosopher  at  all;  quite 
the  contrary,  an  implacable  enemy  of  the  metier. 
And  yet  the  formative  and  directive  influence  of 
his  vaticinations,  enunciated  with  tremendous 
spiritual  heat  and  lofty  gesture,  has  been  very 
great.  His  conception  of  life  has  acted  upon  the 

["5] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

generation  as  a  moral  intoxicant  of  truly  incalcula- 
ble strength. 

Withal  his  published  work,  amounting  to  eigh- 
teen volumes,  though  flagrantly  irrational,  yet 
does  contain  a  perfectly  coherent  doctrine.  Only, 
it  is  a  doctrine  to  whose  core  mere  peripheric 
groping  will  never  negotiate  the  approach.  Its  es- 
sence must  be  caught  by  flashlike  seizure  and  can- 
not be  conveyed  except  to  minds  of  more  than  the 
average  imaginative  sensibility.  For  its  central 
ideas  relate  to  the  remotest  ultimates,  and  its 
dominant  prepossession,  the  Overman,  is,  in  the 
final  reckoning,  the  creature  of  a  Utopian  fancy. 
To  be  more  precise,  Nietzsche  extorts  from  the 
Darwinian  theory  of  selection  a  set  of  amazing 
connotations  by  means  of  the  simultaneous  shift 
from  the  biological  to  the  poetic  sphere  of  thought 
and  from  the  averagely  socialized  to  an  uncom- 
promisingly self-centred  attitude  of  mind.  This 
doubly  eccentric  position  is  rendered  feasible  for 
him  by  a  whole-souled  indifference  to  exact  science 
and  an  intense  contempt  for  the  practical  adjust- 
ments of  life.  He  is,  first  and  last,  an  imaginative 
schemer,  whose  visions  are  engendered  by  inner 
exuberance;  the  propelling  power  of  his  philos- 
ophy being  an  intense  temperamental  enthusiasm 
[116] 


Friedrich  Nietzsche 

at  one  and  the  same  time  lyrically  sensitive  and 
dramatically  impassioned.  It  is  these  qualities  of 
soul  that  made  his  utterance  ring  with  the  force  of 
a  high  moral  challenge.  All  the  same,  he  was  not 
any  more  original  in  his  ethics  than  in  his  theory 
of  knowledge.  In  this  field  also  his  receptive 
mind  threw  itself  wide  open  to  the  flow  of  older 
influences  which  it  encountered.  The  religion  of 
personal  advantage  had  had  many  a  prophet  be- 
fore Nietzsche.  Among  the  older  writers,  Ma- 
chiavelli  was  its  weightiest  champion.  In  Ger- 
many, Nietzsche's  immediate  predecessor  was 
"Max  Stirner,"  *  and  as  regards  foreign  thinkers, 
Nietzsche  declared  as  late  as  1888  that  to  no 
other  writer  of  his  own  century  did  he  feel  himself 
so  closely  allied  by  the  ties  of  congeniality  as  to 
Ralph  Waldo  Emerson. 

The  most  superficial  acquaintance  with  these 
writers  shows  that  Nietzsche  is  held  responsible 
for  certain  revolutionary  notions  of  which  he 
by  no  means  was  the  originator.  Of  the  connec- 
tion of  his  doctrine  with  the  maxims  of  "The 
Prince"  and  of  "The  Ego  and  His  Own"  (Der 
Einzige  und  sein  Eigentum)-  nothing  further  need 

'His  real  name  was  Kaspar  Schmidt;   he  lived  from   1806- 
i8<6. 

By  Machiavelli  and  Stirner,  respectively. 

[II?] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

be  said  than  that  to  them  Nietzsche  owes,  directly 
or  indirectly,  the  principle  of  "non-morality." 
However,  he  does  not  employ  the  same  strictly  in- 
tellectual methods.  They  were  logicians  rather 
than  moralists,  and  their  ruler-man  is  in  the  main  a 
construction  of  cold  reasoning,  while  the  ruler- 
man  of  Nietzsche  is  the  vision  of  a  genius  whose 
eye  looks  down  a  much  longer  perspective  than 
is  accorded  to  ordinary  mortals.  That  a  far 
greater  affinity  of  temper  should  have  existed  be- 
tween Nietzsche  and  Emerson  than  between  him 
and  the  two  classic  non-moralists,  must  bring  sur- 
prise to  the  many  who  have  never  recognized  the 
Concord  Sage  as  an  exponent  of  unfettered  indi- 
vidualism. Yet  in  fact  Emerson  goes  to  such  an 
extreme  of  individualism  that  the  only  thing  that 
has  saved  his  memory  from  anathema  is  that  he 
has  not  many  readers  in  his  after-times,  and  these 
few  do  not  always  venture  to  understand  him.  And 
Emerson,  though  in  a  different  way  from  Nietz- 
sche's, was  also  a  rhapsodist.  In  his  poetry,  where 
he  articulates  his  meaning  with  far  greater  unre- 
straint than  in  his  prose,  we  find  without  any  dif- 
ficulty full  corroboration  of  his  spiritual  kinship 
with  Nietzsche.  For  instance,  where  may  we  turn 
in  the  works  of  the  latter  for  a  stronger  statement 
[118] 


Friedrich  Nietzsche 

of  the  case  of  Power  versus  Pity  than  is  contained 
in  "The  World  Soul"? 

"He  serveth  the  servant, 
The  brave  he  loves  amain, 
He  kills  the  cripple  and  the  sick, 
And  straight  begins  again; 
For  gods  delight  in  gods, 
And  thrust  the  weak  aside, — 
To  him  who  scorns  their  charities 
Their  arms  fly  open  wide." 

From  such  a  world-view  what  moral  could  pro- 
ceed more  logically  than  that  of  Zarathustra: 
"And  him  whom  ye  do  not  teach  to  fly,  teach — 
how  to  fall  quicker"? 

But  after  all,  the  intellectual  origin  of  Nietz- 
sche's ideas  matters  but  little.  Wheresoever  they 
were  derived  from,  he  made  them  strikingly  his 
own  by  raising  them  to  the  splendid  elevation  of 
his  thought.  And  if  nevertheless  he  has  failed  to 
take  high  rank  and  standing  among  the  sages  of 
the  schools,  this  shortage  in  his  professional  pres- 
tige is  more  than  counterbalanced  by  the  wide 
reach  of  his  influence  among  the  laity.  What 
might  the  re-classification,  or  perchance  even  the 
re-interpretation,  of  known  facts  about  life  have 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

signified  beside  Nietzsche's  lofty  apprehension  of 
the  sacredness  of  life  itself?  For  whatever  may 
be  the  social  menace  of  his  reasoning,  his  com- 
manding proclamation  to  an  expectant  age  of  the 
doctrine  that  Progress  means  infinite  growth  to- 
wards ideals  of  perfection  has  resulted  in  a  singu- 
lar reanimation  of  the  individual  sense  of  dignity, 
served  as  a  potent  remedy  of  social  dry-rot,  and 
furthered  our  gradual  emergence  from  the  impene- 
trable darkness  of  ancestral  traditions. 

In  seeking  an  adequate  explanation  of  his  power 
over  modern  minds  we  readily  surmise  that  his 
philosophy  draws  much  of  its  vitality  from  the 
system  of  science  that  underlies  it.  And  yet  while 
it  is  true  enough  that  Nietzsche's  fundamental 
thesis  is  an  offshoot  of  the  Darwinian  theory,  the 
violent  individualism  which  is  the  driving  prin- 
ciple of  his  entire  philosophy  is  rather  opposed  to 
the  general  orientation  of  Darwinism,  since  that 
is  social.  Not  to  the  author  of  the  "Descent  of 
Man"  directly  is  the  modern  ethical  glorification 
of  egoism  indebted  for  its  measure  of  scientific 
sanction,  but  to  one  of  his  heterodox  disciples, 
namely  to  the  bio-philosopher  W.  H.  Rolph,  who 
in  a  volume  named  "Biologic  Problems,"  with  the 
[120] 


Friedrich  Nietzsche 

subtitle,  "An  Essay  in  Rational  Ethics,"1  deals 
definitely  with  the  problem  of  evolution  in  its 
dynamical  bearings.  The  question  is  raised,  Why 
do  the  extant  types  of  life  ascend  toward  higher 
goals,  and,  on  reaching  them,  progress  toward  still 
higher  goals,  to  the  end  of  time?  Under  the  rea- 
son as  explained  by  Darwin,  should  not  evolution 
stop  at  a  definite  stage,  namely,  when  the  object  of 
the  competitive  struggle  for  existence  has  been 
fully  attained?  Self-preservation  naturally  ceases 
to  act  as  an  incentive  to  further  progress,  so  soon 
as  the  weaker  contestants  are  beaten  off  the  field 
and  the  survival  of  the  fittest  is  abundantly  se- 
cured. From  there  on  we  have  to  look  farther  for 
an  adequate  causation  of  the  ascent  of  species. 
Unless  we  assume  the  existence  of  an  absolutistic 
teleological  tendency  to  perfection,  we  are  logically 
bound  to  connect  upward  development  with  fa- 
vorable external  conditions.  By  substituting  for 
the  Darwinian  "struggle  for  existence"  a  new  for- 
mula :  "struggle  for  surplus,"  Rolph  advances  a 
new  fruitful  hypothesis.  In  all  creatures  the  ac- 
quisitive cravings  exceed  the  limit  of  actual  neces- 
sity. Under  Darwin's  interpretation  of  nature, 

1  Biologische  Probleme,  zugltich  alt  Vtrtuch  tiner  rationtlle* 
Ethik.    Leipzig,  1882. 

[121] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

the  struggle  between  individuals  of  the  same  spe- 
cies would  give  way  to  pacific  equilibrium  as  soon 
as  the  bare  subsistence  were  no  longer  in  question. 
Yet  we  know  that  the  struggle  is  unending.  The 
creature  appetites  are  not  appeased  by  a  normal 
sufficiency;  on  the  contrary,  "I'appetit  vient  en 
mangeant" ;  the  possessive  instinct,  if  not  quite  in- 
satiable, is  at  least  coextensive  with  its  opportu- 
nities for  gratification.  Whether  or  not  it  be  true 
— as  Carlyle  claims — that,  after  all,  the  funda- 
mental question  between  any  two  human  beings  is, 
"Can  I  kill  thee,  or  canst  thou  kill  me?" — at  any 
rate  in  civilized  human  society  the  contest  is  not 
waged  merely  for  the  naked  existence,  but  mainly 
for  life's  increments  in  the  form  of  comforts, 
pleasures,  luxuries,  and  the  accumulation  of  power 
and  influence;  and  the  excess  of  acquisition  over 
immediate  need  goes  as  a  residuum  into  the  struc- 
ture of  civilization.  In  plain  words,  then,  social 
progress  is  pushed  on  by  individual  greed  and 
ambition.  At  this  point  Rolph  rests  the  case,  with- 
out entering  into  the  moral  implicates  of  the  sub- 
ject, which  would  seem  to  obtrude  themselves  upon 
the  attention. 

Now  to  a  believer  in  progressive  evolution  with 
a  strong  ethical  bent  such  a  theory  brings  home 
[122] 


Friedrich  Nietzsche 

man's  ulterior  responsibility  for  the  betterment  of 
life,  and  therefore  acts  as  a  call  to  his  supreme 
duty  of  preparing  the  ground  for  the  arrival  of 
a  higher  order  of  beings.  The  argument  seems 
simple  and  clinching.  Living  nature  through  a 
long  file  of  species  and  genera  has  at  last  worked 
up  to  the  homo  sapiens  who  as  yet  does  not  even 
approach  the  perfection  of  his  own  type.  Is  it  a 
legitimate  ambition  of  the  race  to  mark  time  on 
the  stand  which  it  has  reached  and  to  entrench 
itself  impregnably  in  its  present  mediocrity? 
Nietzsche  did  not  shrink  from  any  of  the  inferen- 
tial conclusions  logically  to  be  drawn  from  the 
biologic  argument.  If  growth  is  in  the  purpose  of 
nature,  then  once  we  have  accepted  our  chief  office 
in  life,  it  becomes  our  task  to  pave  the  way  for  a 
higher  genus  of  man.  And  the  only  force  that 
makes  with  directness  for  that  object  is  the  Will 
to  Power.  To  foreshadow  the  resultant  human 
type,  Nietzsche  resurrected  from  Goethe's  vocab- 
ulary the  convenient  word  Vbermensch — "Over- 


man." 


Any  one  regarding  existence  in  the  light  of  a 
stern  and  perpetual  combat  is  of  necessity  driven 
at  last  to  the  alternative  between  making  the  best 

[123] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

of  life  and  making  an  end  of  it;  he  must  either 
seek  lasting  deliverance  from  the  evil  of  living  or 
endeavor  to  wrest  from  the  world  by  any  means 
at  his  command  the  greatest  sum  of  its  gratifica- 
tions. It  is  serviceable  to  describe  the  two  frames 
of  mind  respectively  as  the  optimistic  and  the 
pessimistic.  But  it  would  perhaps  be  hasty  to  con- 
clude that  the  first  of  these  attitudes  necessarily 
betokens  the  greater  strength  of  character. 

Friedrich  Nietzsche's  philosophy  sprang  from 
pessimism,  yet  issued  in  an  optimism  of  unheard- 
of  exaltation;  carrying,  however,  to  the  end  its 
plainly  visible  birthmarks.  He  started  out  as  an 
enthusiastic  disciple  of  Arthur  Schopenhauer;  un- 
questionably the  adherence  was  fixed  by  his  own 
deep-seated  contempt  for  the  complacency  of  the 
plebs.  But  he  was  bound  soon  to  part  company 
with  the  grandmaster  of  pessimism,  because  he 
discovered  the  root  of  the  philosophy  of  renuncia- 
tion in  that  same  detestable  debility  of  the  will 
which  he  deemed  responsible  for  the  bovine  lassi- 
tude of  the  masses;  both  pessimism  and  philistin- 
ism  came  from  a  lack  of  vitality,  and  were  symp- 
toms of  racial  degeneracy.  But  before  Nietzsche 
finally  rejected  Schopenhauer  and  gave  his  shock- 
ing counterblast  to  the  undermining  action  of  pes- 
[124] 


Friedrich  Nietzsche 

simism,  he  succumbed  temporarily  to  the  spell  of 
another  gigantic  personality.  We  are  not  con- 
cerned with  Richard  Wagner's  musical  influence 
upon  Nietzsche,  who  was  himself  a  musician  of  no 
mean  ability;  what  is  to  the  point  here  is  the 
prime  principle  of  Wagner's  art  theory.  The  key 
to  the  Wagnerian  theory  is  found,  also,  in  Scho- 
penhauer's philosophy.  Wagner  starts  from  the 
pessimistic  thesis  that  at  the  bottom  of  the  well  of 
life  lies  nothing  but  suffering, — hence  living  is  ut- 
terly undesirable.  In  one  of  his  letters  to  Franz 
Liszt  he  names  as  the  duplex  root  of  his  creative 
genius  the  longing  for  love  and  the  yearning  for 
death.  On  another  occasion,  he  confesses  his  own 
emotional  nihilism  in  the  following  summary  of 
Tristan  und  Isolde:  "Sehnsucht,  Sehnsucht,  un- 
stillbares,  ewig  neu  sich  gebdrendes  Verlangen — 
Schmachten  und  Dursten;  einzige  Erlosung:  Tod, 
Sterben,  Untergehen,  —  Nichtmehrerwachen"  l 
But  from  the  boundless  ocean  of  sorrow  there  is 
a  refuge.  It  was  Wagner's  fundamental  dogma 
that  through  the  illusions  of  art  the  individual  is 
enabled  to  rise  above  the  hopelessness  of  the  reali- 
ties into  a  new  cosmos  replete  with  supreme  satis- 

1  "Longing,  longing,  unquenchable  desire,  reproducing  itself 
forever  anew — thirst  and  drought;  sole  deliverance:  death,  dis- 
solution, extinction, — and  no  awaking." 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

factions.  Man's  mundane  salvation  therefore  de- 
pends upon  the  ministrations  of  art  and  his  own 
artistic  sensitiveness.  The  glorification  of  genius 
is  a  natural  corollary  of  such  a  belief. 

Nietzsche  in  one  of  his  earliest  works  examines 
Wagner's  theory  and  amplifies  it  by  a  rather  casu- 
istic interpretation  of  the  evolution  of  art.  After 
raising  the  question,  How  did  the  Greeks  contrive 
to  dignify  and  ennoble  their  national  existence? 
he  points,  by  way  of  an  illustrative  answer,  not 
perchance  to  the  Periclean  era,  but  to  a  far  more 
primitive  epoch  of  Hellenic  culture,  when  a  total 
oblivion  of  the  actual  world  and  a  transport  into 
the  realm  of  imagination  was  universally  possi- 
ble. He  explains  the  trance  as  the  effect  of  intoxi- 
cation,— primarily  in  the  current  literal  sense  of 
the  word.  Such  was  the  significance  of  the  cult  of 
Dionysos.  "Through  singing  and  dancing,"  claims 
Nietzsche,  "man  manifests  himself  as  member  of 
a  higher  community.  Walking  and  talking  he  has 
unlearned,  and  is  in  a  fair  way  to  dance  up  into 
the  air."  That  this  supposititious  Dionysiac  phase 
of  Hellenic  culture  was  in  turn  succeeded  by  more 
rational  stages,  in  which  the  impulsive  flow  of  life 
was  curbed  and  dammed  in  by  operations  of  the 
intellect,  is  not  permitted  by  Nietzsche  to  invali- 
[126] 


Friedrich  Nietzsche 

date  the  argument.  By  his  arbitrary  reading  of 
ancient  history  he  was,  at  first,  disposed  to  look  to 
the  forthcoming  Universal-Kunstwerk l  as  the 
complete  expression  of  a  new  religious  spirit  and 
as  the  adequate  lever  of  a  general  uplift  of  man- 
kind to  a  state  of  bliss.  But  the  typical  disparity 
between  Wagner  and  Nietzsche  was  bound  to 
alienate  them.  Wagner,  despite  all  appearance  to 
the  contrary,  is  inherently  democratic  in  his  con- 
victions,— his  earlier  political  vicissitudes  amply 
confirm  this  view, — and  fastens  his  hope  for  the 
elevation  of  humanity  through  art  upon  the  sort 
of  genius  in  whom  latent  popular  forces  might 
combine  to  a  new  summit.  Nietzsche  on  the  other 
hand  represents  the  extreme  aristocratic  type,  both 
in  respect  of  thought  and  of  sentiment.  "I  do  not 
wish  to  be  confounded  with  and  mistaken  for  these 
preachers  of  equality,"  says  he.  "For  within  me 
justice  saith:  men  are  not  equal."  His  ideal  is 
a  hero  of  coercive  personality,  dwelling  aloft  in 
solitude,  despotically  bending  the  gregarious  in- 
stincts of  the  common  crowd  to  his  own  higher 
purposes  by  the  dominating  force  of  his  Will  to 
Might. 

The  concept  of  the  Overman  rests,  as  has  been 

'Work  of  all  arts. 

[I27] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

shown,  upon  a  fairly  solid  substructure  of  plausi- 
bility, since  at  the  bottom  of  the  author's  reason- 
ing lies  the  notion  that  mankind  is  destined  to  out- 
grow its  current  status;  the  thought  of  a  humanity 
risen  to  new  and  wondrous  heights  of  power  over 
nature  is  not  necessarily  unscientific  for  being  su- 
premely imaginative.  The  Overman,  however, 
cannot  be  produced  ready  made,  by  any  instan- 
taneous process ;  he  must  be  slowly  and  persistently 
willed  into  being,  through  love  of  the  new  ideal 
which  he  is  to  embody:  "All  great  Love,"  speak- 
eth  Zarathustra,  "seeketh  to  create  what  it  loveth. 
Myself  I  sacrifice  into  my  love,  and  my  neighbor 
as  myself,  thus  runneth  the  speech  of  all  creators." 
Only  the  fixed  conjoint  purpose  of  many  genera- 
tions of  aspiring  men  will  be  able  to  create  the 
Overman.  "Could  you  create  a  God? — Then  be 
silent  concerning  all  gods !  But  ye  could  very  well 
create  Beyond-man.  Not  yourselves  perhaps,  my 
brethren!  But  ye  could  create  yourselves  into 
fathers  and  fore-fathers  of  Beyond-man;  and  let 
this  be  your  best  creating.  But  all  creators  are 
hard."  " 

Nietzsche's  startlingly  heterodox  code  of  ethics 
coheres  organically  with  the  Overman  hypothesis, 
and  so  understood  is  certain  to  lose  some  of  its 
[128] 


Friedrich  Nietzsche 

aspect  of  absurdity.  The  racial  will,  as  we  have 
seen,  must  be  taught  to  aim  at  the  Overman.  But 
the  volitional  faculty  of  the  generation,  according 
to  Nietzsche,  is  so  debilitated  as  to  be  utterly  in- 
adequate to  its  office.  Hence,  advisedly  to  stimu- 
late and  strengthen  the  enfeebled  will  power  of  his 
fellow  men  is  the  most  imperative  and  immediate 
task  of  the  radical  reformer.  Once  the  power  of 
willing,  as  such,  shall  have  been, — regardless  of 
the  worthiness  of  its  object, — brought  back  to  ac- 
tive life,  it  will  be  feasible  to  give  the  Will  to 
Might  a  direction  towards  objects  of  the  highest 
moral  grandeur. 

Unfortunately  for  the  race  as  a  whole,  the 
throng  is  ineligible  for  partnership  in  the  auspi- 
cious scheme  of  co-operative  procreation;  which 
fact  necessitates  a  segregative  method  of  breeding. 
The  Overman  can  only  be  evolved  by  an  ancestry 
of  master-men,  who  must  be  secured  to  the  race 
by  a  rigid  application  of  eugenic  standards,  par- 
ticularly in  the  matter  of  mating.  Of  marriage, 
Nietzsche  has  this  definition:  "Marriage,  so  call 
I  the  will  of  two  to  create  one  who  is  more  than 
they  who  created  him."  For  the  bracing  of  the 
weakened  will-force  of  the  human  breed  it  is  abso- 
lutely essential  that  master-men,  the  potential  pro- 
[129] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

genitors  of  the  superman,  be  left  unhampered  to 
the  impulse  of  "living  themselves  out"  (sich  auszu- 
leben], — an  opportunity  of  which  under  the  reg- 
nant code  of  morals  they  are  inconsiderately  de- 
prived. Since,  then,  existing  dictates  and  conven- 
tions are  a  serious  hindrance  to  the  requisite  au- 
tonomy of  the  master-man,  their  abolishment 
might  be  well.  Yet  on  the  other  hand,  it  is  con- 
venient that  the  Vielzuviele,  the  "much-too- 
many,"  i.  e.  the  despised  generality  of  people, 
should  continue  to  be  governed  and  controlled  by 
strict  rules  and  regulations,  so  that  the  will  of  the 
master-folk  might  the  more  expeditiously  be 
wrought.  Would  it  not,  then,  be  an  efficacious 
compromise  to  keep  the  canon  of  morality  in  force 
for  the  general  run,  but  suspend  it  for  the  special 
benefit  of  master-men,  prospective  or  full-fledged? 
From  the  history  of  the  race  Nietzsche  draws  a 
warrant  for  the  distinction.  His  contention  is  that 
masters  and  slaves  have  never  lived  up  to  a  single 
code  of  conduct.  Have  not  civilizations  risen  and 
fallen  according  as  they  were  shaped  by  this 
or  that  class  of  nations?  History  also  teaches 
what  disastrous  consequences  follow  the  loss  of 
caste.  In  the  case  of  the  Jewish  people,  the 
domineering  type  or  morals  gave  way  to  the  servile 


Friedrich  Nietzsche 

as  a  result  of  the  Babylonian  captivity.  So  long 
as  the  Jews  were  strong,  they  extolled  all  mani- 
festations of  strength  and  energy.  The  collapse 
of  their  own  strength  turned  them  into  apologists 
of  the  so-called  "virtues"  of  humility,  long-suffer- 
ing, forgiveness, — until,  according  to  the  Judaeo- 
Christian  code  of  ethics,  being  good  came  to  mean 
being  weak.  So  races  may  justly  be  classified  into 
masters  and  slaves,  and  history  proves  that  to  the 
strong  goes  the  empire.  The  ambitions  of  a  na- 
tion are  a  sure  criterion  of  its  worth. 

"I  walk  through  these  folk  and  keep  mine  eyes  open. 
They  have  become  smaller  and  are  becoming  ever  smaller. 
And  the  reason  of  that  is  their  doctrine  of  happiness  and 
virtue. 

For  they  are  modest  even  in  their  virtue;  for  they  are 
desirous  of  ease.  But  with  ease  only  modest  virtue  is 
compatible. 

True,  in  their  fashion  they  learn  how  to  stride  and  to 
stride  forward.  That  I  call  their  hobbling.  Thereby 
they  become  an  offense  unto  every  one  who  is  in  a  hurry. 

And  many  a  one  strideth  on  and  in  doing  so  looketh 
backward,  with  a  stiffened  neck.  I  rejoice  to  run  against 
the  stomachs  of  such. 

Foot  and  eyes  shall  not  lie,  nor  reproach  each  other 
for  lying.  But  there  is  much  lying  among  small  folk. 

Some  of  them  will,  but  most  of  them  are  willed  merely. 
Some  of  them  are  genuine,  but  most  of  them  are  bad 
actors. 

There  are  unconscious  actors  among  them,  and  involun- 

[130 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

tary  actors.  The  genuine  are  always  rare,  especially 
genuine  actors. 

Here  is  little  of  man;  therefore  women  try  to  make 
themselves  manly.  For  only  he  who  is  enough  of  a  man 
will  save  the  woman  in  woman. 

And  this  hypocrisy  I  found  to  be  worst  among  them, 
that  even  those  who  command  feign  the  virtues  of  those 
who  serve. 

'I  serve,  thou  servest,  we  serve.'  Thus  the  hypocrisy 
of  the  rulers  prayeth.  And,  alas,  if  the  highest  lord  be 
merely  the  highest  servant! 

Alas!  the  curiosity  of  mine  eye  strayed  even  unto  their 
hypocrisies,  and  well  I  divined  all  their  fly-happiness  and 
their  humming  round  window  panes  in  the  sunshine. 

So  much  kindness,  so  much  weakness  see  I.  So  much 
justice  and  sympathy,  so  much  weakness. 

Round,  honest,  and  kind  are  they  towards  each  other, 
as  grains  of  sand  are  round,  honest,  and  kind  unto  grains 
of  sand. 

Modestly  to  embrace  a  small  happiness — they  call  'sub- 
mission'! And  therewith  they  modestly  look  sideways 
after  a  new  small  happiness. 

At  bottom  they  desire  plainly  one  thing  most  of  all: 
to  be  hurt  by  nobody.  Thus  they  oblige  all  and  do  well 
unto  them. 

But  this  is  cowardice;  although  it  be  called  'virtue.' 

And  if  once  they  speak  harshly,  these  small  folk, — I 
hear  therein  merely  their  hoarseness.  For  every  draught 
of  air  maketh  them  hoarse. 

Prudent  are  they;  their  virtues  have  prudent  fingers. 
But  they  are  lacking  in  clenched  fists;  their  fingers  know 
not  how  to  hide  themselves  behind  fists. 

For  them  virtue  is  what  maketh  modest  and  tame. 
Thereby  they  have  made  the  wolf  a  dog  and  man  him- 
self man's  best  domestic  animal. 

'We   put   our  chair   in    the   midst' — thus   saith    their 

[132] 


Friedrich  Nietzsche 

simpering  unto  me — 'exactly  as  far  from  dying  gladia- 
tors as  from  happy  swine.' 

This  is  mediocrity ;  although  it  be  called  moderation."  l 

The  only  law  acknowledged  by  him  who  would 
be  a  master  is  the  bidding  of  his  own  will.  He 
makes  short  work  of  every  other  law.  Whatever 
clogs  the  flight  of  his  indomitable  ambition  must 
be  ruthlessly  swept  aside.  Obviously,  the  enact- 
ment of  this  law  that  would  render  the  individual 
supreme  and  absolute  would  strike  the  death-knell 
for  all  established  forms  and  institutions  of  the 
social  body.  But  such  is  quite  within  Nietzsche's 
intention.  They  are  noxious  agencies,  ingeniously 
devised  for  the  enslavement  of  the  will,  and  the 
most  pernicious  among  them  is  the  Christian  re- 
ligion, because  of  the  alleged  divine  sanction  con- 
ferred by  it  upon  subserviency.  Christianity 
would  thwart  the  supreme  will  of  nature  by  curb- 
ing that  lust  for  domination  which  the  laws  of 
nature  as  revealed  by  science  sanction,  nay  pre- 
scribe. Nietzsche's  ideas  on  this  subject  are  loudly 
and  over-loudly  voiced  in  Der  Antichrist  ("The 
Anti-Christ"),  written  in  September  1888  as  the 
first  part  of  a  planned  treatise  in  four  instalments, 
entitled  Der  Wille  zur  Macht.  Versuch  einer 

'"Thus  Spake  Zarathustra,"  pp.  243-245. 
[133] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

Umwertung  aller  Werte.     ("The  Will  to  Power. 
An  Attempted  Transvaluation  of  All  Values".) 


The  master-man's  will,  then,  is  his  only  law. 
That  is  the  essence  of  Herrenmoral.  And  so  the 
question  arises,  Whence  shall  the  conscience  of  the 
ruler-man  derive  its  distinctions  between  the  Right 
and  the  Wrong?  The  arch-iconoclast  brusquely 
stifles  this  naive  query  beforehand  by  assuring  us 
that  such  distinctions  in  their  accepted  sense  do 
not  exist  for  personages  of  that  grander  stamp. 
Heedless  of  the  time-hallowed  concepts  that  all 
men  share  in  common,  he  enjoins  mastermen  to 
take  their  position  uncompromisingly  outside  the 
confining  area  of  conventions,  in  the  moral  inde- 
pendence that  dwells  "beyond  good  and  evil." 
Good  and  Evil  are  mere  denotations,  devoid  of 
any  real  significance.  Right  and  Wrong  are  not 
ideals  immutable  through  the  ages,  nor  even  the 
same  at  any  time  in  all  states  of  society.  They 
are  vague  and  general  notions,  varying  more  or 
less  with  the  practical  exigencies  under  which  they 
were  conceived.  What  was  right  for  my  great- 
grandfather is  not  ipso  facto  right  for  myself. 
Hence,  the  older  and  better  established  a  law,  the 
more  inapposite  is  it  apt  to  be  to  the  living  de- 
[134] 


Friedrich  Nietzsche 

mands.  Why  should  the  ruler-man  bow  down  to 
outworn  statutes  or  stultify  his  self-dependent 
moral  sense  before  the  artificial  and  stupidly  uni- 
form moral  relics  of  the  dead  past?  Good  is 
whatever  conduces  to  the  increase  of  my  power, — 
evil  is  whatever  tends  to  diminish  it!  Only  the 
weakling  and  the  hypocrite  will  disagree. 

Unmistakably  this  is  a  straightout  applica- 
tion of  the  "pragmatic"  criterion  of  truth.  Nietz- 
sche's unconfessed  and  cautious  imitators,  who 
call  themselves  pragmatists,  are  not  bold  enough 
to  follow  their  own  logic  from  the  cognitive  sphere 
to  the  moral.  They  stop  short  of  the  natural 
conclusion  to  which  their  own  premises  lead.  Mo- 
rality is  necessarily  predicated  upon  specific  no- 
tions of  truth.  So  if  Truth  is  an  alterable  and 
shifting  concept,  must  not  morality  likewise  be 
variable  ?  The  pragmatist  might  just  as  well  come 
out  at  once  into  the  broad  light  and  frankly  say: 
"Laws  do  not  interest  me  in  the  abstract,  or  for 
the  sake  of  their  general  beneficence;  they  interest 
me  only  in  so  far  as  they  affect  me.  Therefore  I 
will  make,  interpret,  and  abolish  them  to  suit  my- 
self." 

To  Nietzsche  the  "quest  of  truth"  is  a  palpable 
evasion.  Truth  is  merely  a  means  for  the  en- 
[135] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

hancement  of  my  subjective  satisfaction.  It  makes 
not  a  whit  of  difference  whether  an  opinion  or  a 
judgment  satisfies  this  or  that  scholastic  defini- 
tion. I  call  true  and  good  that  which  furthers 
my  welfare  and  intensifies  my  joy  in  living;  and, — 
to  vindicate  my  self-gratification  as  a  form,  indeed 
the  highest,  of  "social  service," — the  desirable 
thing  is  that  which  matters  for  the  improvement 
of  the  human  stock  and  thereby  speeds  the  advent 
of  the  Superman.  "Oh,"  exclaims  Zarathustra, 
"that  ye  would  understand  my  word:  Be  sure  to 
do  whatever  ye  like, — but  first  of  all  be  such  as 
can  will!  Be  sure  to  love  your  neighbor  as  your- 
self,— but  first  of  all  be  such  as  love  themselves,— 
as  love  themselves  with  great  love,  with  contempt. 
Thus  speaketh  Zarathustra,  the  ungodly." 

By  way  of  throwing  some  light  upon  this  phase 
of  Nietzsche's  moral  philosophy,  it  may  be  added 
that  ever  since  1876  he  was  an  assiduous  student 
of  Herbert  Spencer,  with  whose  theory  of  social 
evolution  he  was  first  made  acquainted  by  his 
friend,  Paul  Ree,  who  in  two  works  of  his  own, 
"Psychologic  Observations,"  (1875),  and  "On 
the  Origin  of  Moral  Sentiments,"  (1877),  had 
elaborated  upon  the  Spencerian  theory  about  the 
genealogy  of  morals. 

[136] 


Friedrich  Nietzsche 

The  best  known  among  all  of  Nietzsche's  works, 
Also  Sprach  Zarathustra  ("Thus  Spake  Zarathus- 
tra"),  is  the  Magna  Charta  of  the  new  moral 
emancipation.  It  was  composed  during  a  sojourn 
in  southern  climes  between  1883  and  1885,  during 
the  convalescence  from  a  nervous  collapse,  when 
after  a  long  and  critical  depression  his  spirit  was 
recovering  its  accustomed  resilience.  Nietzsche 
wrote  his  magnum  opus  in  solitude,  in  the  moun- 
tains and  by  the  sea.  His  mind  always  was  at  its 
best  in  settings  of  vast  proportions,  and  in  this 
particular  work  there  breathes  an  exaltation  that 
has  scarcely  its  equal  in  the  world's  literature. 
Style  and  diction  in  their  supreme  elation  suit  the 
lofty  fervor  of  the  sentiment.  From  the  feelings, 
as  a  fact,  this  great  rhapsody  flows,  and  to  the 
feelings  it  makes  its  appeal;  its  extreme  fascination 
must  be  lost  upon  those  who  only  know  how  to 
"listen  to  reason."  The  wondrous  plastic  beauty 
of  the  language,  along  with  the  high  emotional 
pitch  of  its  message,  render  "Zarathustra"  a  price- 
less poetic  monument;  indeed  its  practical  effect 
in  chastening  and  rejuvenating  German  literary 
diction  can  hardly  be  overestimated.  Its  value  as 
a  philosophic  document  is  much  slighter.  It  is 
not  even  organized  on  severely  logical  lines.  On 

[137] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

the  contrary,  the  four  component  parts  are  but 
brilliant  variations  upon  a  single  generic  theme, 
each  in  a  different  clef,  but  harmoniously  united 
by  the  incremental  ecstasy  of  the  movement.  The 
composition  is  free  from  monotony,  for  down  to 
each  separate  aphorism  every  part  of  it  has  its 
special  lyric  nuance.  The  whole  purports  to 
convey  in  the  form  of  discourse  the  prophetic 
message  of  Zarathustra,  the  hermit  sage,  an  ideal- 
ized self-portrayal  of  the  author. 

In  the  first  book  the  tone  is  calm  and  temper- 
ate. Zarathustra  exhorts  and  instructs  his  dis- 
ciples, rails  at  his  adversaries,  and  discloses  his 
superiority  over  them.  In  the  soliloquies  and  dia- 
logues of  the  second  book  he  reveals  himself  more 
fully  and  freely  as  the  Superman.  The  third  book 
contains  the  meditations  and  rhapsodies  of  Zara- 
thustra now  dwelling  wholly  apart  from  men,  his 
mind  solely  occupied  with  thought  about  the 
Eternal  Return  of  the  Present.  In  the  fourth  book 
he  is  found  in  the  company  of  a  few  chosen  spirits 
whom  he  seeks  to  imbue  with  his  perfected  doc- 
trine. In  this  final  section  of  the  work  the  deep 
lyric  current  is  already  on  the  ebb;  it  is  largely 
supplanted  by  irony,  satire,  sarcasm,  even  buffoon- 
ery, all  of  which  are  resorted  to  for  the  pitiless 

[138] 


Friedrich  Nietzsche 

excoriation  of  our  type  of  humanity,  deemed  de- 
crepit by  the  Sage.  The  author's  intention  to 
present  in  a  concluding  fifth  division  the  dying 
Zarathustra  pronouncing  his  benedictions  upon 
life  in  the  act  of  quitting  it  was  not  to  bear  fruit. 
"Zarathustra" — Nietzsche's  terrific  assault 
upon  the  fortifications  of  our  social  structure — is 
too  easily  mistaken  by  facile  cavilers  for  the  rav- 
ings of  an  unsound  and  desperate  mind.  To  a  nar- 
row and  superficial  reading,  it  exhibits  itself  as  a 
wholesale  repudiation  of  all  moral  responsibility 
and  a  maniacal  attempt  to  subvert  human  civiliza- 
tion for  the  exclusive  benefit  of  the  "glorious 
blonde  brute,  rampant  with  greed  for  victory  and 
spoil."  Yet  those  who  care  to  look  more  deeply 
will  detect  beneath  this  chimerical  contempt  of 
conventional  regulations  no  want  of  a  highminded 
philanthropic  purpose,  provided  they  have  the  vis- 
ion necessary  to  comprehend  a  love  of  man  orient- 
ed by  such  extremely  distant  perspectives.  At  all 
events  they  will  discover  that  in  this  rebellious 
propaganda  an  advancing  line  of  life  is  firmly 
traced  out.  The  indolent  and  thoughtless  may  in- 
deed be  horrified  by  the  appalling  dangers  of  the 
gospel  according  to  Zarathustra.  But  in  reality 
there  is  no  great  cause  for  alarm.  Society  may 
[139] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

amply  rely  upon  its  agencies,  even  in  these  stu- 
pendous times  of  universal  war,  for  protection 
from  any  disastrous  organic  dislocations  incited 
by  the  teachings  of  Zarathustra,  at  least  so  far  as 
the  immediate  future  is  concerned — in  which  alone 
society  appears  to  be  interested.  Moreover,  our 
apprehensions  are  appeased  by  the  sober  reflection 
that  by  its  plain  unfeasibleness  the  whole  super- 
social  scheme  of  Nietzsche  is  reduced  to  colossal 
absurdity.  Its  limitless  audacity  defeats  any  for- 
mulation of  its  "war  aims."  For  what  compels 
an  ambitious  imagination  to  arrest  itself  at  the 
goal  of  the  superman?  Why  should  it  not  run  on 
beyond  that  first  terminal?  In  one  of  Mr.  G.  K. 
Chesterton's  labored  extravaganzas  a  grotesque 
sort  of  super-overman  in  spe  succeeds  in  going  be- 
yond unreason  when  he  contrives  this  lucid  self- 
definition:  "I  have  gone  where  God  has  never 
dared  to  go.  I  am  above  the  silly  supermen  as 
they  are  above  mere  men.  Where  I  walk  in  the 
Heavens,  no  man  has  walked  before  me,  and  I 
am  alone  in  a  garden."  It  is  enough  to  make  one 
gasp  and  then  perhaps  luckily  recall  Goethe's  con- 
soling thought  that  under  the  care  of  Providence 
the  trees  will  not  grow  into  the  heavens.  ("Es  ist 
dafur  gesorgt,  dass  die  Baume  nicht  in  den  Him- 
[140] 


Friedrich  Nietzsche 

mel  wachsen")  As  matter  of  fact,  the  ideas  pro- 
mulgated in  Also  Sprach  Zarathustra  need  inspire 
no  fear  of  their  winning  the  human  race  from  its 
venerable  idols,  despite  the  fact  that  the  pull  of 
natural  laws  and  of  elemental  appetites  seems  to 
be  on  their  side.  The  only  effect  to  be  expected 
of  such  a  philosophy  is  that  it  will  act  as  an  anti- 
dote for  moral  inertia  which  inevitably  goes  with 
the  flock-instinct  and  the  lazy  reliance  on  the  ac- 
customed order  of  things. 

Nietzsche's  ethics  are  not  easy  to  valuate,  since 
none  of  their  standards  are  derived  from  the  or- 
thodox canon.  His  being  a  truly  personalized 
form  of  morality,  his  principles  are  strictly  cognate 
to  his  temperament.  To  his  professed  ideals 
there  attaches  a  definite  theory  of  society.  And 
since  his  philosophy  is  consistent  in  its  sincerity, 
its  message  is  withheld  from  the  man-in-the-street, 
deemed  unworthy  of  notice,  and  delivered  only  to 
the  elite  that  shall  beget  the  superman.  To 
Nietzsche  the  good  of  the  greatest  number  is  no 
valid  consideration.  The  great  stupid  mass  exists 
only  for  the  sake  of  an  oligarchy  by  whom  it  is 
duly  exploited  under  nature's  decree  that  the 
strong  shall  prey  upon  the  weak.  Let,  then,  this 
favored  set  further  the  design  of  nature  by  sys- 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

tematically  encouraging  the  elevation  of  their  own 


We  have  sought  to  dispel  the  fiction  about  the 
shaping  influence  of  Nietzsche  upon  the  thought 
and  conduct  of  his  nation,  and  have  accounted  for 
the  miscarriage  of  his  ethics  by  their  fantastic 
impracticability.  Yet  it  has  been  shown  also  that 
he  fostered  in  an  unmistakable  fashion  the  class- 
consciousness  of  the  aristocrat,  born  or  self-ap- 
pointed. To  that  extent  his  influence  was  cer- 
tainly malign.  Yet  doubtless  he  did  perform  a 
service  to  our  age.  The  specific  nature  of  this 
service,  stated  in  the  fewest  words,  is  that  to  his 
great  divinatory  gift  are  we  indebted  for  an  un- 
precedented strengthening  of  our  hold  upon  real- 
ity. In  order  to  make  this  point  clear  we  have  to 
revert  once  more  to  Nietzsche's  transient  intel- 
lectual relation  to  pessimism. 

We  have  seen  that  the  illusionism  of  Schopen- 
hauer and  more  particularly  of  Wagner  exerted  a 
strong  attraction  on  his  high-strung  artistic  tem- 
perament. 

Nevertheless  a  certain  realistic  counter-drift  to 
the  ultra-romantic  tendency  of  Wagner's  theory 
caused  him  in  the  long  run  to  reject  the  faith  in 
[142] 


Friedrich  Nietzsche 

the  power  of  Art  to  save  man  from  evil.  Almost 
abruptly,  his  personal  affection  for  the  "Master," 
to  whom  in  his  eventual  mental  eclipse  he  still 
referred  tenderly  at  lucid  moments,  changed  to 
bitter  hostility.  Henceforth  he  classes  the  glori- 
fication of  Art  as  one  of  the  three  most  despicable 
attitudes  of  life:  Philistinism,  Pietism,  and  Es- 
theticism,  all  of  which  have  their  origin  in  cow- 
ardice, represent  three  branches  of  the  ignomin- 
ious road  of  escape  from  the  terrors  of  living.  In 
three  extended  diatribes  Nietzsche  denounces 
Wagner  as  the  archetype  of  modern  decadence; 
the  most  violent  attack  of  all  is  delivered  against 
the  point  of  juncture  in  which  Wagner's  art  gospel 
and  the  Christian  religion  culminate:  the  promise 
of  redemption  through  pity.  To  Nietzsche's  way 
of  thinking  pity  is  merely  the  coward's  acknowl- 
edgment of  his  weakness.  For  only  insomuch  as  a 
man  is  devoid  of  fortitude  in  bearing  his  own  suf- 
ferings is  he  unable  to  contemplate  with  equanim- 
ity the  sufferings  of  his  fellow  creatures.  Since 
religion  enjoins  compassion  with  all  forms  of  hu- 
man misery,  we  should  make  war  upon  religion. 
And  for  the  reason  that  Wagner's  crowning 
achievement,  his  Parsifal,  is  a  veritable  sublima- 
tion of  Mercy,  there  can  be  no  truce  between  its 

[I43I 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

creator  and  the  giver  of  the  counsel:  "Be  hard!" 
Perhaps  this  notorious  advice  is  after  all  not  as 
ominous  as  it  sounds.  It  merely  expresses  rather 
abruptly  Nietzsche's  confidence  in  the  value  of  self- 
control  as  a  means  of  discipline.  If  you  have 
learned  calmly  to  see  others  suffer,  you  are  your- 
self able  to  endure  distress  with  manful  compo- 
sure. "Therefore  I  wash  the  hand  which  helped 
the  sufferer;  therefore  I  even  wipe  my  soul."  But, 
unfortunately,  such  is  the  frailty  of  human  nature 
that  it  is  only  one  step  from  indifference  about  the 
sufferings  of  others  to  an  inclination  to  exploit 
them  or  even  to  inflict  pain  upon  one's  neighbors 
for  the  sake  of  personal  gain  of  one  sort  or  an- 
other. 

Why  so  hard?  said  once  the  charcoal  unto  the  dia- 
mond, are  we  not  near  relations? 

Why  so  soft?  O  my  brethren,  thus  I  ask  you.  Are 
ye  not  my  brethren  ? 

Why  so  soft,  so  unresisting,  and  yielding?  Why  is 
there  so  much  disavowal  and  abnegation  in  your  hearts? 
Why  is  there  so  little  fate  in  your  looks? 

And  if  ye  are  not  willing  to  be  fates,  and  inexorable, 
how  could  ye  conquer  with  me  someday? 

And  if  your  hardness  would  not  glance,  and  cut,  and 
chip  into  pieces — how  could  ye  create  with  me  some 
day? 

For  all  creators  are  hard.  And  it  must  seem  blessed- 
ness unto  you  to  press  your  hand  upon  millenniums  as 
upon  wax, — 

[H4] 


Friedrich  Nietzsche 

Blessedness  to  write  upon  the  will  of  millenniums  as 
upon  brass, — harder  than  brass,  nobler  than  brass.  The 
noblest  only  is  perfectly  hard. 

This  new  table,  O  my  brethren,  I  put  over  you:  Be- 
come hard ! x 

The  repudiation  of  Wagner  leaves  a  tremen- 
dous void  in  Nietzsche's  soul  by  depriving  his  en- 
thusiasm of  its  foremost  concrete  object.  He  loses 
his  faith  in  idealism.  When  illusions  can  bring  a 
man  like  Wagner  to  such  an  odious  outlook  upon 
life,  they  must  be  obnoxious  in  themselves;  and 
so,  after  being  subjected  to  pitiless  analysis,  they 
are  disowned  and  turned  into  ridicule.  And  now, 
the  pendulum  of  his  zeal  having  swung  from  one 
emotional  extreme  to  the  other,  the  great  rhap- 
sodist  finds  himself  temporarily  destitute  of  an 
adequate  theme.  However,  his  fervor  does  not 
long  remain  in  abeyance,  and  soon  it  is  absorbed 
in  a  new  object.  Great  as  is  the  move  it  is  logical 
enough.  Since  illusions  are  only  a  hindrance  to 
the  fuller  grasp  of  life  which  behooves  all  free 
spirits,  Nietzsche  energetically  turns  from  self- 
deception  to  its  opposite,  self-realization.  In  this 
new  spiritual  endeavor  he  relies  far  more  on  intui- 
tion than  on  scientific  and  metaphysical  specula- 
tion. From  his  own  stand  he  is  certainly  justified 

1  "Thus  Spake  Zarathustra,"  p.  399,  sec  29. 
[145] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

in  doing  this.  Experimentation  and  ratiocination 
at  the  best  are  apt  to  disassociate  individual  reali- 
ties from  their  complex  setting  and  then  proceed 
to  palm  them  off  as  illustrations  of  life,  when  in 
truth  they  are  lifeless,  artificially  preserved  speci- 
mens. 

"Encheiresin  naturae  nennt's  die  Chemie, 
Spottet  ihrer  selbst  und  weiss  nicht  wie"  1 

Nietzsche's  realism,  by  contrast,  goes  to  the  very 
quick  of  nature,  grasps  all  the  gifts  of  life,  and 
from  the  continuous  flood  of  phenomena  extracts 
a  rich,  full-flavored  essence.  It  is  from  a  sense  of 
gratitude  for  this  boon  that  he  becomes  an  idola- 
trous worshiper  of  experience,  "der  grosse  Jasa- 
ger," — the  great  sayer  of  Yes, — and  the  most 
stimulating  optimist  of  all  ages.  To  Nietzsche 
reality  is  alive  as  perhaps  never  to  man  before. 
He  plunges  down  to  the  very  heart  of  things,  ab- 
sorbs their  vital  qualities  and  meanings,  and  hav- 
ing himself  learned  to  draw  supreme  satisfaction 
from  the  most  ordinary  facts  and  events,  he  makes 
the  common  marvelous  to  others,  which,  as  was 
said  by  James  Russell  Lowell,  is  a  true  test  of 

'Goethe's  Faust,  II,  11.  1940-1.  Bayard  Taylor  translates:  En- 
cheiresin naturae,  this  Chemistry  names,  nor  knows  how  herself 
she  banters  and  blames! 

[I46] 


Friedrich  Nietzsche 

genius.  No  wonder  that  deification  of  reality 
becomes  the  dominant  motif  in  his  philosophy. 
But  again  that  onesided  aristocratic  strain  per- 
verts his  ethics.  To  drain  the  intoxicating  cup 
at  the  feast  of  life,  such  is  the  divine  privilege  not 
of  the  common  run  of  mortals  but  only  of  the  elect. 
They  must  not  let  this  or  that  petty  and  artificial 
convention,  nor  yet  this  or  that  moral  command 
or  prohibition,  restrain  them  from  the  exercise 
of  that  higher  sense  of  living,  but  must  fully  aban- 
don themselves  to  its  joys.  "Since  man  came  into 
existence  he  hath  had  too  little  joy.  That  alone, 
my  brethren,  is  our  original  sin."  l  The  "much- 
too-many"  are  doomed  to  inanity  by  their  lack  of 
appetite  at  the  banquet  of  life: 

Such  folk  sit  down  unto  dinner  and  bring  nothing  with 
them,  not  even  a  good  hunger.  And  now  they  backbite: 
"All  is  vanity!" 

But  to  eat  well  and  drink  well,  O  my  brethren,  is, 
verily,  no  vain  art!  Break,  break  the  tables  of  those  who 
are  never  joyful ! 2 

The  Will  to  Live  holds  man's  one  chance  of 
this-worldly  bliss,  and  supersedes  any  care  for  the 
remote  felicities  of  any  problematic  future  state. 
Yet  the  Nietzschean  cult  of  life  is  not  to  be  under- 

1  "Thus  Spake  Zarathustra,"  p.   120. 
'Ibid.,  p.  296,  KC.  13. 

[147] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

stood  by  any  means  as  a  banal  devotion  to  the 
pleasurable  side  of  life  alone.  The  true  disciple 
finds  in  every  event,  be  it  happy  or  adverse,  ex- 
alting or  crushing,  the  factors  of  supreme  spiritual 
satisfaction:  joy  and  pain  are  equally  implied  in 
experience,  the  Will  to  Live  encompasses  jointly 
the  capacity  to  enjoy  and  to  suffer.  It  may  even 
be  paradoxically  said  that  since  man  owes  some 
of  his  greatest  and  most  beautiful  achievements 
to  sorrow,  it  must  be  a  joy  and  a  blessing  to  suf- 
fer. The  unmistakable  sign  of  heroism  is  amor 
fati,  a  fierce  delight  in  one's  destiny,  hold  what  it 
may. 

Consequently,  the  precursor  of  the  superman 
will  be  possessed,  along  with  his  great  sensibility 
to  pleasure,  of  a  capacious  aptitude  for  suffering. 
"Ye  would  perchance  abolish  suffering,"  exclaims 
Nietzsche,  "and  we, — it  seems  that  we  would 
rather  have  it  even  greater  and  worse  than  it  has 
ever  been.  The  discipline  of  suffering, — tragical 
suffering, — know  ye  not  that  only  this  discipline 
has  heretofore  brought  about  every  elevation  of 
man?"  "Spirit  is  that  life  which  cutteth  into  life. 
By  one's  own  pain  one's  own  knowledge  in- 
creaseth ; — knew  ye  that  before  ?  And  the  happi- 
ness of  the  spirit  is  this:  to  be  anointed  and  con- 
[148] 


Friedrich  Nietzsche 

secrated  by  tears  as  a  sacrificial  animal; — knew 
ye  that  before?"  And  if,  then,  the  tragical  pain 
inherent  in  life  be  no  argument  against  Joyfulness, 
the  zest  of  living  can  be  obscured  by  nothing  save 
the  fear  of  total  extinction.  To  the  disciple  of 
Nietzsche,  by  whom  every  moment  of  his  exist- 
ence is  realized  as  a  priceless  gift,  the  thought  of 
his  irrevocable  separation  from  all  things  is  un- 
bearable. "  'Was  this  life?'  I  shall  say  to  Death. 
'Well,  then,  once  more!' '  And — to  paraphrase 
Nietzsche's  own  simile — the  insatiable  witness  of 
the  great  tragi-comedy,  spectator  and  partici- 
pant at  once,  being  loath  to  leave  the  theatre,  and 
eager  for  a  repetition  of  the  performance,  shouts 
his  endless  encore,  praying  fervently  that  in  the 
constant  repetition  of  the  performance  not  a  sin- 
gle detail  of  the  action  be  omitted.  The  yearning 
for  the  endlessness  not  of  life  at  large,  not  of  life 
on  any  terms,  but  of  this  my  life  with  its  ineffable 
wealth  of  rapturous  moments,  works  up  the  ex- 
treme optimism  of  Nietzsche  to  its  stupendous 
a  priori  notion  of  infinity,  expressed  in  the  name 
die  eurige  Wiederkehr  ("Eternal  Recurrence"). 
It  is  a  staggeringly  imaginative  concept,  formed 
apart  from  any  evidential  grounds,  and  yet  forti- 
fied with  a  fair  amount  of  logical  armament.  The 
[149] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

universe  is  imagined  as  endless  in  time,  although 
its  material  contents  are  not  equally  conceived  as 
limitless.  Since,  consequently,  there  must  be  a 
limit  to  the  possible  variety  in  the  arrangement 
and  sequence  of  the  sum  total  of  data,  even  as  in 
the  case  of  a  kaleidoscope,  the  possibility  of  varie- 
gations is  not  infinite.  The  particular  co-ordina- 
tion of  things  in  the  universe,  say  at  this  particular 
moment,  is  bound  to  recur  again  and  again  in  the 
passing  of  the  eons.  But  under  the  nexus  of  cause 
and  effect  the  resurgence  of  the  past  from  the 
ocean  of  time  is  not  accidental  nor  is  the  configura- 
tion of  things  haphazard,  as  is  true  in  the  case  of 
the  kaleidoscope;  rather,  history,  in  the  most  in- 
clusive acceptation  of  the  term,  is  predestined  to 
repeat  itself;  this  happens  through  the  perpetual 
progressive  resurrection  of  its  particles.  It  is  then 
to  be  assumed  that  any  aspect  which  the  world  has 
ever  presented  must  have  existed  innumerable  mil- 
lions of  times  before,  and  must  recur  with  eternal 
periodicity.  That  the  deterministic  strain  in  this 
tremendous  Forstellung  of  a  cyclic  rhythm  throb- 
bing in  the  universe  entangles  its  author's  fanatical 
belief  in  evolution  in  a  rather  serious  self-contra- 
diction, does  not  detract  from  its  spiritual  lure, 
[150] 


Friedrich  Nietzsche 

nor  from  its  wide  suggestiveness,  however  incapa- 
ble it  may  be  of  scientific  demonstration. 

From  unfathomed  depths  of  feeling  wells  up 
the  psean  of  the  prophet  of  the  life  intense. 

O  Mensch !   Gib  Acht ! 

Was  spricht  die  tiefe  Mitternacht? 

Ich  schlicf,  ich  schlief — , 

Aus  tiefem  Traum  bin  ich  ervvacht: — 

Die  Welt  ist  tief, 

Und  tiefer  als  der  Tag  gedacht. 

Tief  ist  ihr  Weh— , 

Lust — tiefer  noch  als  Herzeleid: 

Weh  spricht:   Vergeh! 

Doch  alle  Lust  will  Ewigkeit — 

Will  tiefe,  tiefe  Ewigkeit! l 

A  timid  heart  may  indeed  recoil  from  the  iron 
necessity  of  reliving  ad  infinitum  its  woeful  terres- 
trial fate.  But  the  prospect  can  hold  no  terror 
for  the  heroic  soul  by  whose  fiat  all  items  of  ex- 
perience have  assumed  important  meanings  and 

1  O  man !     Lose  not  sight ! 
What  saith  the  deep  midnight? 
"I  lay  in  sleep,  in  sleep; 
From  deep  dream  I  woke  to  light. 
The  world  is  deep, 

And  deeper  than  ever  day  thought   it  might. 
Deep  is  its  woe, — 

And  deeper  still  than  woe — delight." 
Saith  woe:  "Pass,  go! 
Eternity's  sought  by   all  delight, — 
Eternity  deep — by  all  delight. 

"Thus  Spake  Zarathustra,"  The  Drunken  Song,  p.  174. — The 
translation  but  faintly  suggests  the  poetic  appeal  of  the  original. 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

values.  He  who  has  cast  in  his  lot  with  Destiny 
in  spontaneous  submission  to  all  its  designs,  can- 
not but  revere  and  cherish  his  own  fate  as  an  in- 
tegral part  of  the  grand  unalterable  fatality  of 
things. 

If  this  crude  presentment  of  Friedrich  Nietz- 
sche's doctrine  has  not  entirely  failed  of  its  pur- 
pose, the  leitmotifs  of  that  doctrine  will  have  been 
readily  referred  by  the  reader  to  their  origin;  they 
can  be  subsumed  under  that  temperamental  cate- 
gory which  is  more  or  less  accurately  defined  as 
the  romantic.  Glorification  of  violent  passion, — 
quest  of  innermost  mysteries, — boundless  expan- 
sion of  self-consciousness, — visions  of  a  future  of 
transcendent  magnificence,  and  notwithstanding 
an  ardent  worship  of  reality  a  quixotically  im- 
practicable detachment  from  the  concrete  basis 
of  civic  life, — these  outstanding  characteristics  of 
the  Nietzschean  philosophy  give  unmistakable 
proof  of  a  central,  driving,  romantic  inspiration: 
Nietzsche  shifts  the  essence  and  principle  of  being 
to  a  new  center  of  gravity,  by  substituting  the  Fu- 
ture for  the  Present  and  relying  on  the  untram- 
meled  expansion  of  spontaneous  forces  which  upon 
[152] 


Friedrich  Nietzsche 

closer  examination  are  found  to  be  without  definite 
aim  or  practical  goal. 

For  this  reason,  critically  to  animadvert  upon 
Nietzsche  as  a  social  reformer  would  be  utterly 
out  of  place;  he  is  simply  too  much  of  a  poet  to 
be  taken  seriously  as  a  statesman  or  politician. 
The  weakness  of  his  philosophy  before  the  forum 
of  Logic  has  been  referred  to  before.  Nothing 
can  be  easier  than  to  prove  the  incompatibility  of 
some  of  his  theorems.  How,  for  instance,  can  the 
absolute  determinism  of  the  belief  in  Cyclic  Re- 
currence be  reconciled  with  the  power  vested  in 
superman  to  deflect  by  his  autonomous  will  the 
straight  course  of  history?  Or,  to  touch  upon  a 
more  practical  social  aspect  of  his  teaching, — if 
in  the  order  of  nature  all  men  are  unequal,  how 
can  we  ever  bring  about  the  right  selection  of 
leaders,  how  indeed  can  we  expect  to  secure  the 
due  ascendancy  of  character  and  intellect  over  the 
gregarious  grossness  of  the  demos? 

Again,  it  is  easy  enough  to  controvert  Nietzsche 
almost  at  any  pass  by  demonstrating  his  unphilo- 
sophic  onesidedness.  Were  Nietzsche  not  stub- 
bornly onesided,  he  would  surely  have  conceded — 
as  any  sane-minded  person  must  concede  in  these 
times  of  suffering  and  sacrifice — that  charity,  self- 
[1531 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

abnegation,  and  self-immolation  might  be  viewed, 
not  as  conclusive  proofs  of  degeneracy,  but  on 
the  contrary  as  signs  of  growth  towards  perfec- 
tion. Besides,  philosophers  of  the  metier  are  sure 
to  object  to  the  haziness  of  Nietzsche's  idea  of 
Vitality  which  in  truth  is  oriented,  as  is  his  philoso- 
phy in  general,  less  by  thought  than  by  sentiment. 

Notwithstanding  his  obvious  connection  with 
significant  contemporaneous  currents,  the  author 
of  "Zarathustra"  is  altogether  too  much  sui  gen- 
eris to  be  amenable  to  any  crude  and  rigid  classifi- 
cation. He  may  plausibly  be  labelled  an  anarchist, 
yet  no  definition  of  anarchism  will  wholly  take 
him  in.  Anarchism  stands  for  the  demolition  of 
the  extant  social  apparatus  of  restraint.  Its  bat- 
tle is  for  the  free  determination  of  personal  happi- 
ness. Nietzsche's  prime  concern,  contrarily,  is 
with  internal  self-liberation  from  the  obsessive  de- 
sire for  personal  happiness  in  any  accepted  con- 
notation of  the  term;  such  happiness  to  him  does 
not  constitute  the  chief  object  of  life. 

The  cardinal  point  of  Nietzsche's  doctrine  is 
missed  by  those  who,  arguing  retrospectively,  ex- 
pound the  gist  of  his  philosophy  as  an  incitation 
to  barbarism.  Nothing  can  be  more  remote  from 
his  intentions  than  the  transformation  of  society 
[154] 


Friedrich  Nietzsche 

into  a  horde  of  ferocious  brutes.  His  impeach- 
ment of  mercy,  notwithstanding  an  appearance  of 
reckless  impiety,  is  in  the  last  analysis  no  more  and 
no  less  than  an  expedient  in  the  truly  romantic  pur- 
suit of  a  new  ideal  of  Love.  Compassion,  in  his 
opinion,  hampers  the  progress  towards  forms  of 
living  that  shall  be  pregnant  with  a  new  and  su- 
perior type  of  perfection.  And  in  justice  to  Nietz- 
sche it  should  be  borne  in  mind  that  among  the 
various  manifestations  of  that  human  failing  there 
is  none  he  scorns  so  deeply  as  cowardly  and  petty 
commiseration  of  self.  It  also  deserves  to  be  em- 
phasized that  he  nowhere  endorses  selfishness 
when  exercised  for  small  or  sordid  objects.  "I 
love  the  brave.  But  it  is  not  enough  to  be  a 
swordsman,  one  must  also  know  against  whom  to 
use  the  sword.  And  often  there  is  more  bravery 
in  one's  keeping  quiet  and  going  past,  in  order  to 
spare  one's  self  for  a  worthier  enemy:  Ye  shall 
have  only  enemies  who  are  to  be  hated,  but  not 
enemies  who  are  to  be  despised."  l  Despotism 
must  justify  itself  by  great  and  worthy  ends.  And 
no  man  must  be  permitted  to  be  hard  towards 
others  who  lacks  the  strength  of  being  even  harder 
towards  himself. 

'"Thus  Spake  Zarathustra,"  p.  304. 
[155] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

At  all  events  it  must  serve  a  better  purpose  to 
appraise  the  practical  importance  of  Nietzsche's 
speculations  than  blankly  to  denounce  their  im- 
moralism.  Nietzsche,  it  has  to  be  repeated,  was 
not  on  the  whole  a  creator  of  new  ideas.  His 
extraordinary  influence  in  the  recent  past  is  not 
due  to  any  supreme  originality  or  fertility  of  mind; 
it  is  predominantly  due  to  his  eagle-winged  im- 
agination. In  him  the  emotional  urge  of  utter- 
ance was,  accordingly,  incomparably  more  potent 
than  the  purely  intellectual  force  of  opinion:  in 
fact  the  texture  of  his  philosophy  is  woven  of  sen- 
sations rather  than  of  ideas,  hence  its  decidedly 
ethical  trend. 

The  latent  value  of  Nietzsche's  ethics  in  their 
application  to  specific  social  problems  it  would  be 
extremely  difficult  to  determine.  Their  successful 
application  to  general  world  problems,  if  it  were 
possible,  would  mean  the  ruin  of  the  only  form 
of  civilization  that  signifies  to  us.  His  philosophy, 
if  swallowed  in  the  whole,  poisons;  in  large  pota- 
tions, intoxicates;  but  in  reasonable  doses, 
strengthens  and  stimulates.  Such  danger  as  it 
harbors  has  no  relation  to  grossness.  His  call  to 
the  Joy  of  Living  and  Doing  is  no  encouragement 
of  vulgar  hedonism,  but  a  challenge  to  persevering 


Friedrich  Nietzsche 

effort.  He  urges  the  supreme  importance  of  vigor 
of  body  and  mind  and  force  of  will.  "O  my 
brethren,  I  consecrate  you  to  be,  and  show  unto 
you  the  way  unto  a  new  nobility.  Ye  shall  be- 
come procreators  and  breeders  and  sowers  of  the 
future. — Not  whence  ye  come  be  your  honor  in 
future,  but  whither  ye  go !  Your  will,  and  your 
foot  that  longeth  to  get  beyond  yourselves,  be 
that  your  new  honor  1"  l 

It  would  be  a  withering  mistake  to  advocate  the 
translation  of  Nietzsche's  poetic  dreams  into  the 
prose  of  reality.  Unquestionably  his  Utopia  if 
it  were  to  be  carried  into  practice  would  doom  to 
utter  extinction  the  world  it  is  devised  to  regener- 
ate. But  it  is  generally  acknowledged  that 
"prophets  have  a  right  to  be  unreasonable,"  and 
so,  if  we  would  square  ourselves  with  Friedrich 
Nietzsche  in  a  spirit  of  fairness,  we  ought  not  to 
forget  that  the  daring  champion  of  reckless  unre- 
straint is  likewise  the  inspired  apostle  of  action, 
power,  enthusiasm,  and  aspiration,  in  fine,  a 
prophet  of  Vitality  and  a  messenger  of  Hope. 

'"Thus  Spake  Zarathustra,"  p.  294. 


[157] 


LEO  TOLSTOY 


IV 

THE  REVIVALISM  OF  LEO  TOLSTOY 

IN  the  intellectual  record  of  our  times  it  is  one 
of  the  oddest  events  that  the  most  impressive 
preacher  who  has  taken  the  ear  of  civilized 
mankind  in  this  generation  raised  up  his  voice 
in  a  region  which  in  respect  of  its  political,  relig- 
ious, and  economic  status  was  until  recently,  by 
fairly  common  consent,  ruled  off  the  map  of  Eu- 
rope. The  greatest  humanitarian  of  his  century 
sprang  up  in  a  land  chiefly  characterized  in  the 
general  judgment  of  the  outside  world  by  the 
reactionism  of  its  government  and  the  stolid 
ignorance  of  its  populace.  A  country  still  teeming 
with  analphabeticians  and  proverbial  for  its  dense 
medievalism  gave  to  the  world  a  writer  who  by 
the  great  quality  of  his  art  and  the  lofty  spiritual- 
ism of  his  teaching  was  able  not  only  to  obtain  a 
wide  hearing  throughout  all  civilized  countries, 
but  to  become  a  distinct  factor  in  the  moral  evolu- 
tion of  the  age.  The  stupefying  events  that  have 
[161] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

recently  revolutionized  the  Russian  state  have 
given  the  world  an  inkling  of  the  secrets  of  the 
Slavic  type  of  temperament,  so  mystifying  in  its 
commixture  of  simplicity  and  strength  on  the  one 
hand  with  grossness  and  stupidity,  and  on  the  other 
hand  with  the  highest  spirituality  and  idealism. 
For  such  people  as  in  these  infuriated  times  still 
keep  up  some  objective  and  judicious  interest  in 
products  of  the  literary  art,  the  volcanic  upheaval 
in  the  social  life  of  Russia  has  probably  thrown 
some  of  Tolstoy's  less  palpable  figures  into  a 
greater  plastic  relief.  Tolstoy's  own  character, 
too,  has  become  more  tangible  in  its  curious  com- 
position. The  close  analogy  between  his  personal 
theories  and  the  dominant  impulses  of  his  race 
has  now  been  made  patent.  We  are  better  able  to 
understand  the  people  of  whom  he  wrote  because 
we  have  come  to  know  better  the  people  for  whom 
he  wrote. 

The  emphasis  of  Tolstoy's  popular  appeal  was 
unquestionably  enhanced  by  certain  eccentricities 
of  his  doctrine,  and  still  more  by  his  picturesque 
efforts  to  conform  his  mode  of  life,  by  way  of 
necessary  example,  to  his  professed  theory  of 
social  elevation.  The  personality  of  Tolstoy,  like 
the  character  of  the  Russian  people,  is  many-sided, 
[162] 


Leo  Tolstoy 

and  since  its  aspects  are  not  marked  off  by  con- 
venient lines  of  division,  but  are,  rather,  com- 
mingled in  the  great  and  varied  mass  of  his  liter- 
ary achievements,  it  is  not  easy  to  make  a  defini- 
tive forecast  of  his  historic  position.  Tentatively, 
however,  the  current  critical  estimate  may  be 
summed  up  in  this:  as  a  creative  writer,  in  partic- 
ular of  novels  and  short  stories,  he  stood  matchless 
among  the  realists,  and  the  verdict  pronounced 
at  one  time  by  William  Dean  Howells  when  he 
referred  to  Tolstoy  as  "the  only  living  writer  of 
perfect  fiction"  is  not  likely  to  be  overruled  by 
posterity.  Nor  will  competent  judges  gainsay  his 
supreme  importance  as  a  critic  and  moral  revivalist 
of  society,  even  though  they  may  be  seriously 
disposed  to  question  whether  his  principles  of  con- 
duct constitute  in  their  aggregate  a  canon  of  much 
practical  worth  for  the  needs  of  the  western  world. 
As  a  philosopher  or  an  original  thinker,  however, 
he  will  hardly  maintain  the  place  accorded  him 
by  the  less  discerning  among  his  multitudinous  fol- 
lowers, for  in  his  persistent  attempt  to  find  a 
new  way  of  understanding  life  he  must  be  said  to 
have  signally  failed.  Wisdom  in  him  was  ham- 
pered by  Utopian  fancies;  his  dogmas  derive  from 
idiosyncrasies  and  lead  into  absurdities.  Then, 
[163] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

too,  most  of  his  tenets  are  easily  traced  to  their 
sources:  in  his  vagaries  as  well  as  in  his  noblest 
and  soundest  aspirations  he  was  merely  continuing 
work  which  others  had  prepared. 


An  objective  survey  of  Tolstoy's  work  in  real- 
istic fiction,  in  which  he  ranked  supreme,  should 
start  with  the  admission  that  he  was  by  no  means 
the  first  arrival  among  the  Russians  in  that  field. 
Nicholas  Gogol,  Fedor  Dostoievsky,  and  Ivan 
Turgenieff  had  the  priority  by  a  small  margin. 
Of  these  three  powerful  novelists,  Dostoievsky 
(1821-1881)  has  probably  had  an  even  stronger 
influence  upon  modern  letters  than  has  Tolstoy 
himself.  He  was  one  of  the  earliest  writers  of 
romance  to  show  the  younger  generation  how  to 
found  fiction  upon  deeper  psychologic  knowledge. 
His  greatest  proficiency  lay,  as  is  apt  to  be  the 
case  with  writers  of  a  realistic  bent,  in  dealing  with 
the  darkest  side  of  life.  The  wretched  and  out- 
cast portion  of  humanity  yielded  to  his  skill  its 
most  congenial  material.  His  novels — "Poor 
Folk,"  (1846),  "Memoirs  from  a  Dead  House," 
(1862),  "Raskolnikoff,"  (1866),  "The  Idiot," 
(1868),  "The  Karamasoffs,"  (1879)— take  the 
reader  into  company  such  as  had  heretofore 
[164] 


Leo  Tolstoy 

not  gained  open  entrance  to  polite  literature: 
criminals,  defectives,  paupers,  and  prostitutes. 
Yet  he  did  not  dwell  upon  the  wretchedness 
of  that  submerged  section  of  humanity  from  any 
perverse  delight  in  what  is  hideous  or  for  the  sat- 
isfaction of  readers  afflicted  with  morbid  curios- 
ity, but  from  a  compelling  sense  of  pity  and 
brotherly  love.  His  works  are  an  appeal  to  char- 
ity. In  them,  the  imperdible  grace  of  the  soul 
shines  through  the  ugliest  outward  disguise  to  win 
a  glance  from  the  habitual  indifference  of  for- 
tune's enfants  gates.  Dostoievsky  preceded  Tol- 
stoy in  frankly  enlisting  his  talents  in  the  service 
of  his  outcast  brethren.  With  the  same  ideal  of 
the  writer's  mission  held  in  steady  view,  Tolstoy 
turned  his  attention  from  the  start,  and  then  more 
and  more  as  his  work  advanced,  to  the  pitiable 
condition  of  the  lower  orders  of  society.  It  must 
not  be  forgotten  in  this  connection  that  his  career 
was  synchronous  with  the  growth  of  a  social  revo- 
lution which,  having  reached  its  full  force  in  these 
days,  is  making  Russia  over  for  better  or  for 
worse,  and  whose  wellsprings  Tolstoy  helps  us  to 
fathom. 

For  the  general  grouping  of  his  writings  it  is 
convenient  to  follow  Tolstoy's  own  division  of  his 
[165] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

life.  His  dreamy  poetical  childhood  was  suc- 
ceeded by  three  clearly  distinct  stages:  first,  a 
score  of  years  filled  up  with  self-indulgent  worldli- 
ness;  next,  a  nearly  equal  length  of  time  devoted 
to  artistic  ambition,  earnest  meditation,  and  help- 
ful social  work;  last,  by  a  more  gradual  transi- 
tion, the  ascetic  period,  covering  a  long  stretch  of 
years  given  up  to  religious  illumination  and  to  the 
strenuous  advocacy  of  the  Simple  Life. 

The  remarkable  spiritual  evolution  of  this  great 
man  was  apparently  governed  far  more  by  inborn 
tendencies  than  by  the  workings  of  experience.  Of 
Tolstoy  in  his  childhood,  youth,  middle  age,  and 
senescence  we  gain  trustworthy  impressions  from 
numerous  autobiographical  documents,  but  here 
we  shall  have  to  forego  anything  more  than  a  pass- 
ing reference  to  the  essential  facts  of  his  career. 
He  was  descended  from  an  aristocratic  family  of 
German  stock  but  domiciled  in  Russia  since  the 
fourteenth  century.  The  year  of  his  birth  was 
1828,  the  same  as  Ibsen's.  In  youth  he  was 
bashful,  eccentric,  and  amazingly  ill-favored. 
The  last-named  of  these  handicaps  he  outgrew 
but  late  in  life,  still  later  did  he  get  over  his 
bashfulness,  and  his  eccentricity  never  left  him. 
His  penchant  for  the  infraction  of  custom  nearly 
[166] 


Leo  Tolstoy 

put  a  premature  stop  to  his  career  when  in  his 
urchin  days  he  once  threw  himself  from  a  window 
in  an  improvised  experiment  in  aerial  navigation. 
At  the  age  of  fourteen  he  was  much  taken  up  with 
subtile  speculations  about  the  most  ancient  and 
vexing  of  human  problems:  the  future  life,  and  the 
immortality  of  the  soul.  Entering  the  university 
at  fifteen,  he  devoted  himself  in  the  beginning  to 
the  study  of  oriental  languages,  but  later  on  his 
interest  shifted  to  the  law.  At  sixteen  he  was 
already  imbued  with  the  doctrines  of  Jean  Jacques 
Rousseau  that  were  to  play  such  an  important  role 
in  guiding  his  conduct.  In  1 846  he  passed  out  of 
the  university  without  a  degree,  carrying  away 
nothing  but  a  lasting  regret  over  his  wasted  time. 
He  went  directly  to  his  ancestral  estates,  with 
the  idealistic  intention  to  make  the  most  of 
the  opportunity  afforded  him  by  the  patriarchal 
relationship  that  existed  in  Russia  between  the 
landholder  and  the  adscript!  glebae  and  to  im- 
prove the  condition  of  his  seven  hundred  depend- 
ents. His  efforts,  however,  were  foredoomed  to 
failure,  partly  through  his  lack  of  experience, 
partly  also  through  a  certain  want  of  sincerity 
or  tenacity  of  purpose.  The  experiment  in  so- 
cial education  having  abruptly  come  to  its  end, 
[167] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

the  disillusionized  reformer  threw  himself  head- 
long into  the  diversions  and  dissipations  of  the 
capital  city.  In  his  "Confession"  he  refers  to 
that  chapter  of  his  existence  as  made  up  wholly 
of  sensuality  and  worldliness.  He  was  inordi- 
nately proud  of  his  noble  birth, — at  college  his  in- 
choate apostleship  of  the  universal  brotherhood 
of  man  did  not  shield  him  from  a  general  dislike 
on  account  of  his  arrogance, — and  he  cultivated 
the  most  exclusive  social  circles  of  Moscow.  He 
freely  indulged  the  love  of  sports  that  was  to  cling 
through  life  and  keep  him  strong  and  supple  even 
in  very  old  age.  (Up  to  a  short  time  before  his 
death  he  still  rode  horseback  and  perhaps  none  of 
the  renunciations  exacted  by  his  principles  came  so 
hard  as  that  of  giving  up  his  favorite  pastime  of 
hunting.)  But  he  also  fell  into  the  evil  ways  of 
gilded  youth,  soon  achieving  notoriety  as  a  toper, 
gambler,  and  courreur  des  femmes.  After  a  while 
his  brother,  who  was  a  person  of  steadier  habits 
and  who  had  great  influence  over  him,  persuaded 
him  to  quit  his  profligate  mode  of  living  and  to 
join  him  at  his  military  post.  Under  the  bracing 
effect  of  the  change,  the  young  man's  moral  ener- 
gies quickly  revived.  In  the  wilds  of  the  Caucasus 
he  at  once  grew  freer  and  cleaner;  his  deep  affec- 
[168] 


Leo  Tolstoy 

tion  for  the  half-civilized  land  endeared  him  both 
to  the  Cossack  natives  and  the  Russian  soldiers. 
He  entered  the  army  at  twenty-three,  and  from 
November,  1853,  up  to  the  fall  of  Sebastopol  in 
the  summer  of  1855,  served  in  the  Crimean  cam- 
paign. He  entered  the  famous  fortress  in  No- 
vember, 1854,  and  was  among  the  last  of  its 
defenders.  The  indelible  impressions  made  upon 
his  mind  by  the  heroism  of  his  comrades,  the  aw- 
ful scenes  and  the  appalling  suffering  he  had  to 
witness,  were  responsible  then  and  later  for  de- 
scriptions as  harrowing  and  as  stirring  as  any  that 
the  war  literature  of  our  own  day  has  produced. 

In  the  Crimea  he  made  his  debut  as  a  writer. 
Among  the  tales  of  his  martial  period  the  most 
popular  and  perhaps  the  most  excellent  is  the  one 
called  "The  Cossacks."  Turgenieff  pronounced 
it  the  best  short  story  ever  written  in  Russian,  and 
it  is  surely  no  undue  exaggeration  to  say  of  Tol- 
stoy's novelettes  in  general  that  in  point  of  tech- 
nical mastery  they  are  unsurpassed. 

Sick  at  heart  over  the  unending  bloodshed  in 
the  Caucasus  the  young  officer  made  his  way  back 
to  Petrograd,  and  here,  lionized  in  the  salons 
doubly,  for  his  feats  at  arms  and  in  letters,  he 
seems  to  have  returned,  within  more  temperate 
[169] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

limits,  to  his  former  style  of  living.  At  any  rate, 
in  his  own  judgment  the  ensuing  three  years  were 
utterly  wasted.  The  mental  inanity  and  moral 
corruption  all  about  him  swelled  his  sense  of  su- 
periority and  self-righteousness.  The  glaring 
humbug  and  hypocrisy  that  permeated  his  social 
environment  was,  however,  more  than  he  could 
long  endure. 

Having  resigned  his  officer's  commission  he 
went  abroad  in  1857,  to  Switzerland,  Germany, 
and  France.  The  studies  and  observations  made 
in  these  travels  sealed  his  resolution  to  settle  down 
for  good  on  his  domain  and  to  consecrate  his  life 
to  the  welfare  of  his  peasants.  But  a  survey  of 
the  situation  found  upon  his  return  made  him  real- 
ize that  nothing  could  be  done  for  the  "muzhik" 
without  systematic  education:  therefore,  in  order 
to  prepare  himself  for  efficacious  work  as  a 
teacher,  he  spent  some  further  time  abroad  for 
special  study,  in  1859.  After  that,  the  educational 
labor  was  taken  up  in  full  earnest.  The  lord  of 
the  land  became  the  schoolmaster  of  his  subjects, 
reenforcing  the  effect  of  viva  voce  teaching  by 
means  of  a  periodical  published  expressly  for  their 
moral  uplift.  This  work  he  continued  for  about 
three  years,  his  hopes  of  success  now  rising,  now 


Leo  Tolstoy 

falling,  when  in  a  fit  of  despondency  he  again 
abandoned  his  philanthropic  efforts.  About  this 
time,  1862,  he  married  Sophia  Andreyevna  Behrs, 
the  daughter  of  a  Moscow  physician.  With  char- 
acteristic honesty  he  forced  his  private  diary  on 
his  fiancee,  who  was  only  eighteen,  so  that  she 
might  know  the  full  truth  about  his  pre-conjugal 
course  of  living. 

About  the  Countess  Tolstoy  much  has  been  said 
in  praise  and  blame.  Let  her  record  speak  for 
itself.  Of  her  union  with  the  great  novelist  thir- 
teen children  were  born,  of  whom  nine  reached  an 
adult  age.  The  mother  nursed  and  tended  them 
all,  with  her  own  hands  made  their  clothes,  and 
until  they  grew  to  the  age  of  ten  supplied  to  them 
the  place  of  a  schoolmistress.  It  must  not  be 
inferred  from  this  that  her  horizon  did  not  extend 
beyond  nursery  and  kitchen,  for  during  the  earlier 
years  she  acted  also  as  her  husband's  invaluable 
amanuensis.  Before  the  days  of  the  typewriter 
his  voluminous  manuscripts  were  all  copied  by  her 
hand,  and  recopied  and  revised — in  the  case  of 
"War  and  Peace"  this  happened  no  less  than 
seven  times,  and  the  novel  runs  to  sixteen  hundred 
close-printed  pages! — and  under  her  supervision 
his  numerous  works  were  not  only  printed  but  also 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

published  and  circulated.  Moreover,  she  man- 
aged his  properties,  landed,  personal,  and  literary, 
to  the  incalculable  advantage  of  the  family  for- 
tune. This  end,  to  be  sure,  she  accomplished  by 
conservative  and  reliable  methods  of  business;  for 
while  of  his  literary  genius  she  was  the  greatest 
admirer,  she  never  was  in  full  accord  with  his 
communistic  notions.  And  the  highest  proof  of 
all  her  extraordinary  Tuchtigkeit  and  devotion  is 
that  by  her  common  sense  and  tact  she  was  en- 
abled to  function  for  a  lifetime  as  a  sort  of  buf- 
fer between  her  husband's  world-removed  dream- 
land existence  and  the  rigid  and  frigid  reality  of 
facts. 

Thus  Tolstoy's  energies  were  left  to  go  undivid- 
ed into  literary  production;  its  amount,  as  a  re- 
sult, was  enormous.  If  all  his  writings  were  to  be 
collected,  including  the  unpublished  manuscripts 
now  reposing  in  the  Rumyantzoff  Museum,  which 
are  said  to  be  about  equal  in  quantity  to  the  pub- 
lished works,  and  if  to  this  collection  were  added 
his  innumerable  letters,  most  of  which  are  of 
very  great  interest,  the  complete  set  of  Tolstoy's 
works  would  run  to  considerably  more  than  one 
hundred  volumes.  To  discuss  all  of  Tolstoy's 
writings,  or  even  to  mention  all,  is  here  quite  out 
[172] 


Leo  Tolstoy 

of  the  question.  All  those,  however,  that  seem 
vital  for  the  purpose  of  a  just  estimate  and  char- 
acterization will  be  touched  upon. 


The  literary  fame  of  Tolstoy  was  abundantly 
secured  already  in  the  earlier  part  of  his  life  by 
his  numerous  short  stories  and  sketches.  The 
three  remarkable  pen  pictures  of  the  siege  of 
Sebastopol,  and  tales  such  as  "The  Cossacks," 
"Two  Hussars,"  "Polikushka,"  "The  Snow- 
Storm,"  "The  Encounter,"  "The  Invasion,"  "The 
Captive  in  the  Caucasus,"  "Lucerne,"  "Albert," 
and  many  others,  revealed  together  with  an  ex- 
ceptional depth  of  insight  an  extraordinary  plastic 
ability  and  skill  of  motivation;  in  fact  they  de- 
serve to  be  set  as  permanent  examples  before  the 
eyes  of  every  aspiring  author.  In  their  characters 
and  their  setting  they  present  true  and  racy  pic- 
tures of  a  portentous  epoch,  intimate  studies  of 
the  human  soul  that  are  full  of  charm  and  fascina- 
tion, notwithstanding  their  tragic  sadness  of  out- 
look. Manifestly  this  author  was  a  prose  poet  of 
such  marvelous  power  that  he  could  abstain  con- 
sistently from  the  use  of  sweeping  color,  over- 
wrought sentiment,  and  high  rhetorical  invective. 

At  this  season  Tolstoy,  while  he  refrained  from 

[173] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

following  any  of  the  approved  literary  models, 
was  paying  much  attention  to  the  artistic  refine- 
ment of  his  style.  There  was  to  be  a  time  when 
he  would  abjure  all  considerations  of  artistry  on 
the  ground  that  by  them  the  ethical  issue  in  a  nar- 
ration is  beclouded.  But  it  would  be  truer  to  say 
conversely  that  in  his  own  later  works,  since  "Anna 
Karenina,"  the  clarity  of  the  artistic  design  was 
dimmed  by  the  obstrusive  didactic  purpose.  For- 
tunately the  artistic  interest  was  not  yet  wholly 
subordinated  to  the  religious  urge  while  the  three 
great  novels  were  in  course  of  composition:  "War 
and  Peace,"  (1864-69),  "Anna  Karenina,"  (first 
part,  1873;  published  complete  in  1877),  and 
"Resurrection,"  (1899).  To  the  first  of  these  is 
usually  accorded  the  highest  place  among  all  of 
Tolstoy's  works;  it  is  by  this  work  that  he  takes 
his  position  as  the  chief  epic  poet  of  modern  times. 
"War  and  Peace"  is  indeed  an  epic  rather  than 
a  novel  in  the  ordinary  meaning.  Playing  against 
the  background  of  tremendous  historical  transac- 
tions, the  narrative  sustains  the  epic  character  not 
only  in  the  hugeness  of  its  dimensions,  but  equally 
in  the  qualities  of  its  technique.  There  is  very  lit- 
tle comment  by  the  author  upon  the  events,  and 
merely  a  touch  of  subjective  irony  here  and 
[174] 


Leo  Tolstoy 

there.  The  story  is  straightforwardly  told  as  it 
was  lived  out  by  its  characters.  Tolstoy  has  not 
the  self-complacency  to  thrust  in  the  odds  and  ends 
of  his  personal  philosophy,  as  is  done  so  annoying- 
ly  even  by  a  writer  of  George  Meredith's  conse- 
quence, nor  does  he  ever  treat  his  readers  with  the 
almost  simian  impertinence  so  successfully  affected 
by  a  Bernard  Shaw.  If  "War  and  Peace"  has  any 
faults,  they  are  the  faults  of  its  virtues,  and 
spring  mainly  from  an  unmeasured  prodigality  of 
the  creative  gift.  As  a  result  of  Tolstoy's  exces- 
sive range  of  vision,  the  orderly  progress  of  events 
in  that  great  novel  is  broken  up  somewhat  by  the 
profusion  of  shapes  that  monopolize  the  attention 
one  at  a  time  much  as  individual  spots  in  a  land- 
scape do  under  the  sweeping  glare  of  the  search- 
light. Yet  although  in  the  externalization  of  this 
crowding  multitude  of  figures  no  necessary  detail 
is  lacking,  the  grand  movement  as  a  whole  is  not 
swamped  by  the  details.  The  entire  story  is  gov- 
erned by  the  conception  of  events  as  an  emanation 
of  the  cosmic  will,  not  merely  as  the  consequence 
of  impulses  proceeding  from  a  few  puissant  gen- 
iuses of  the  Napoleonic  order. 

It  is  quite  in  accord  with  such  a  view  of  history 
that   the   machinery   of  this  voluminous   epopee 
[175] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

is  not  set  in  motion  by  a  single  conspicuous  pro- 
tagonist. As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  is  somewhat  baf- 
fling to  try  to  name  the  principals  in  the  story, 
since  in  artistic  importance  all  the  figures  are  on 
an  equal  footing  before  their  maker;  possibly  the 
fact  that  Tolstoy's  ethical  theory  embodied  the 
most  persistent  protest  ever  raised  against  the 
inequality  of  social  estates  proved  not  insignificant 
for  his  manner  of  characterization.  Ethical  jus- 
tice, however,  is  carried  to  an  artistic  fault,  for  the 
feelings  and  reactions  of  human  nature  in  so  many 
diverse  individuals  lead  to  an  intricacy  and  subtlety 
of  motivation  which  obscures  the  organic  causes 
through  overzeal  in  making  them  patent.  Any- 
way, Tolstoy  authenticates  himself  in  this  novel 
as  a  past  master  of  realism,  particularly  in  his 
utterly  convincing  depictment  of  Russian  soldier 
life.  And  as  a  painter  of  the  battlefield  he  ranks, 
allowing  for  the  difference  of  the  medium,  with 
Vasili  Verestschagin  at  his  best.  It  may  be  said 
in  passing  that  these  two  Russian  pacifists,  by 
their  gruesome  exposition  of  the  horrors  of  war, 
aroused  more  sentiment  against  warfare  than  did 
all  the  spectacular  and  expensive  peace  conferences 
inaugurated  by  the  crowned  but  hollow  head  of 
their  nation,  and  the  splendid  declamations  of  the 
[176] 


Leo  Tolstoy 

possessors  of,  or  aspirants  for,  the  late  Mr. 
Nobel's  forty-thousand  dollar  prize. 

Like  all  true  realists,  Tolstoy  took  great  pains 
to  inform  himself  even  about  the  minutiae  of  his 
subjects,  but  he  never  failed,  as  did  in  large 
measure  Zola  in  La  Debacle,  to  infuse  emotional 
meaning  into  the  static  monotony  of  facts  and  fig- 
ures. In  his  strong  attachment  for  his  own  human 
creatures  he  is  more  nearly  akin  to  the  idealizing 
or  sentimentalizing  type  of  realists,  like  Daudet, 
Kipling,  Hauptmann,  than  to  the  downright  mat- 
ter-of-fact naturalists  such  as  Zola  or  Gorki.  But 
to  classify  him  at  all  would  be  wrong  and  futile, 
since  he  was  never  leagued  with  literary  creeds 
and  cliques  and  always  stood  aloof  from  the  heat- 
ed theoretical  controversies  of  his  time  even  after 
he  had  hurled  his  great  inclusive  challenge  to  art. 

"War  and  Peace"  was  written  in  Tolstoy's  hap- 
piest epoch,  at  a  time,  comparatively  speaking,  of 
spiritual  calm.  He  had  now  reached  some  satis- 
fying convictions  in  his  religious  speculations,  and 
felt  that  his  personal  life  was  moving  up  in  the 
right  direction.  His  moral  change  is  made  plain 
in  the  contrast  between  two  figures  of  the  story, 
Prince  Andrey  and  Peter  Bezukhoff:  the  am- 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

bitious  worldling  and  the  honest  seeker  after  the 
right  way. 

In  his  second  great  novel,  "Anna  Karenina," 
the  undercurrent  of  the  author's  own  moral  experi- 
ence has  a  distinctly  greater  carrying  power.  It  is 
through  the  earnest  idealist,  Levine,  that  Tolstoy 
has  recorded  his  own  aspirations.  Characteristic- 
ally, he  does  not  make  Levine  the  central  figure. 

"Anna  Karenina"  is  undoubtedly  far  from 
"pleasant"  reading,  since  it  is  the  tragical  recital 
of  an  adulterous  love.  But  the  situation,  with  its 
appalling  consequence  of  sorrow,  is  seized  in  its 
fullest  psychological  depth  and  by  this  means 
saved  from  being  in  any  way  offensive.  The  re- 
lation between  the  principals  is  viewed  as  by  no 
means  an  ordinary  liaison.  Anna  and  Vronsky 
are  serious-minded,  honorable  persons,  who  have 
struggled  conscientiously  against  their  mutual  en- 
chantment, but  are  swept  out  of  their  own  moral 
orbits  by  the  resistless  force  of  Fate.  This  fatal- 
istic element  in  the  tragedy  is  variously  empha- 
sized; so  at  the  beginning  of  the  story,  where 
Anna,  in  her  emotional  confusion  still  half-igno- 
rant of  her  infatuation,  suddenly  realizes  her  love 
for  Vronsky;  or  in  the  scene  at  the  horse  races 
where  he  meets  with  an  accident.  Throughout  the 


Leo  Tolstoy 

narrative  the  psychological  argumentation  is  be- 
yond criticism.  Witness  the  description  of  Anna's 
husband,  a  sort  of  cousin-in-kind  of  Ibsen's  Thor- 
vald  Helmer,  reflecting  on  his  future  course  after 
his  wife's  confession  of  her  unfaithfulness.  Or 
that  other  episode,  perhaps  the  greatest  of  them 
all,  when  Anna,  at  the  point  of  death,  joins  to- 
gether the  hands  of  her  husband  and  her  lover. 
Or,  finally,  the  picture  of  Anna  as  she  deserts  her 
home  leaving  her  son  behind  in  voluntary  expia- 
tion of  her  wrong-doing,  an  act,  by  the  way,  that 
betrays  a  nicety  of  conscience  far  too  subtle  for 
the  Rhadamantine  inquisitors  who  demand  to 
know  why,  if  Anna  would  atone  to  Karenin,  does 
she  go  with  Vronsky?  How  perfectly  true  to  life, 
subsequently,  is  the  rapid  degringolade  of  this  pas- 
sion under  the  gnawing  curse  of  the  homeless, 
workless,  purposeless  existence  which  little  by 
little  disunites  the  lovers!  Only  the  end  may  be 
somewhat  open  to  doubt,  with  its  metastasis  of 
the  heroine's  character, — unless  indeed  we  con- 
sider the  sweeping  change  accounted  for  by  the 
theory  of  duplex  personality.  She  herself  believes 
that  there  are  two  quite  different  women  alive  in 
her,  the  one  steadfastly  loyal  to  her  obligations, 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

the  other  blindly  driven  into  sin  by  the  demon  of 
her  uncontrollable  temperament. 

In  the  power  of  analysis,  "Anna  Karenina"  is 
beyond  doubt  Tolstoy's  masterpiece,  and  yet  in 
its  many  discursive  passages  it  already  foreshad- 
ows the  disintegration  of  his  art,  or  more  pre- 
cisely, its  ultimate  capitulation  to  moral  propa- 
gandism.  For  it  was  while  at  work  upon  this 
great  novel  that  the  old  perplexities  returned  to 
bewilder  his  soul.  In  the  tumultuous  agitation  of 
his  conscience,  the  crucial  and  fundamental  ques- 
tions, Why  Do  We  Live?  and  How  Should  We 
Live?  could  nevermore  be  silenced.  Now  a  defin- 
itive attitude  toward  life  is  forming;  to  it  all  the 
later  works  bear  a  vital  relation.  And  so,  in  re- 
gard to  their  moral  outlook,  Tolstoy's  books  may 
fitly  be  divided  into  those  written  before  and  those 
written  since  his  "conversion."  "Anna  Karenina" 
happens  to  be  on  the  dividing  line. 

He  was  a  man  well  past  fifty,  of  enviable  social 
position,  in  prosperous  circumstances,  widely  cele- 
brated for  his  art,  highly  respected  for  his  char- 
acter, and  in  his  domestic  life  blessed  with  every 
reason  for  contentment.  Yet  all  the  gifts  of  for- 
tune sank  into  insignificance  before  that  vexing, 
unanswered  Why?  In  the  face  of  a  paralyzing 
[i  80] 


Leo  Tolstoy 

universal  aimlessness,  there  could  be  to  him  no 
abiding  sense  of  life  in  his  personal  enjoyments 
and  desires.  The  burden  of  life  became  still  less 
endurable  face  to  face  with  the  existence  of  evil 
and  with  the  wretchedness  of  our  social  arrange- 
ments. With  so  much  toil  and  trouble,  squalor, 
ignorance,  crime,  and  every  conceivable  kind  of 
bodily  and  mental  suffering  all  about  me,  why 
should  I  be  privileged  to  live  in  luxury  and  idle- 
ness? This  ever  recurring  question  would  not 
permit  him  to  enjoy  his  possessions  without  self- 
reproach.  To  think  of  thousands  of  fellowmen 
lacking  the  very  necessaries,  made  affluence  and  its 
concomitant  ways  of  living  odious  to  him.  We 
know  that  in  1884,  or  thereabouts,  he  radically 
changed  his  views  and  modes  of  life  so  as  to  bring 
them  into  conformity  with  the  laws  of  the  Gospel. 
But  before  this  conversion,  in  the  despairing  an- 
guish that  attacked  him  after  the  completion  of 
"Anna  Karenina,"  he  was  frequently  tempted  to 
suicide.  Although  the  thought  of  death  was  very 
terrible  to  him  then  and  at  all  times,  still  he  would 
rather  perish  than  live  on  in  a  world  made  heinous 
and  hateful  by  the  iniquity  of  men.  Then  it  was 
that  he  searched  for  a  reason  why  the  vast  pro- 
portion of  humanity  endure  life,  nay  enjoy  it,  and 
[181] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

why  self-destruction  is  condemned  by  the  general 
opinion,  and  this  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  for  most 
mortals  existence  is  even  harder  than  it  could  have 
been  for  him,  since  he  at  least  was  shielded  from 
material  want  and  lived  amid  loving  souls.  The 
answer  he  found  in  the  end  seemed  to  lead  by  a 
straight  road  out  of  the  wilderness  of  doubt  and 
despair.  The  great  majority,  so  he  ascertained, 
are  able  to  bear  the  burden  of  life  because  they 
heed  the  ancient  injunction:  "ora  et  lab  or  a" ;  they 
work  and  they  believe.  Might  he  not  sweeten  his 
lot  after  the  same  prescription?  Being  of  a  deli- 
cate spiritual  sensibility,  he  had  long  realized  that 
people  of  the  idle  class  were  for  the  most  part  in- 
wardly indifferent  to  religion  and  in  their  actions 
defiant  of  its  spirit.  In  the  upper  strata  of  society 
religious  thought,  where  it  exists,  is  largely  adul- 
terated or  weakened;  sophisticated  by  education, 
doctored  by  science,  thinned  out  with  worldly  am- 
bitions and  with  practical  needs  and  considerations. 
The  faith  that  supports  life  is  found  only  among 
simple  folk.  For  faith,  to  deserve  the  name,  must 
be  absolute,  uncritical,  unreasoning.  Starting 
from  these  convictions  as  a  basis,  Tolstoy  reso- 
lutely undertook  to  learn  to  believe;  a  determina- 
tion which  led  him,  as  it  has  led  other  ardent  re- 
[182] 


Leo  Tolstoy 

ligionists,  so  far  astray  from  ecclesiastical  paths 
that  in  due  course  of  time  he  was  unavoidably 
excommunicated  from  his  church.  His  convictions 
made  him  a  vehement  antagonist  of  churchdom 
because  of  its  stiffness  of  creed  and  laxness  of 
practice.  For  his  own  part  he  soon  arrived  at  a 
full  and  absolute  acceptance  of  the  Christian  faith 
in  what  he  considered  to  be  its  primitive  and  es- 
sential form.  In  "Walk  Ye  in  the  Light," 
( 1893),  the  reversion  of  a  confirmed  worldling  to 
this  original  conception  of  Christianity  gives  the 
story  of  the  writer's  own  change  of  heart. 

To  the  period  under  discussion  belongs  Tol- 
stoy's drama,  "The  Power  of  Darkness," 
( 1 886)  .*  It  is  a  piece  of  matchless  realism,  prob- 
ably the  first  unmixedly  naturalistic  play  ever 
wrought  out.  It  is  brutally,  terribly  true  to  life, 
and  that  to  life  at  its  worst,  both  in  respect  of 
the  plot  and  the  actors,  who  are  individualized 
down  to  the  minutest  characteristics  of  utterance 
and  gesture.  Withal  it  is  a  species  of  modern  mo- 
rality, replete  with  a  reformatory  purpose  that  re- 
flects deeply  the  author's  tensely  didactic  state  of 
mind.  His  instructional  zeal  is  heightened  by  in- 
timate knowledge  of  the  Russian  peasant,  on  his 

1  The  only  tragedy  brought  out  during  his  life  time. 
[183] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

good  side  as  well  as  on  his  bad.  Some  of  his  short 
stories  are  crass  pictures  of  the  muzhik's  bestial 
degradation,  veritable  pattern  cards  of  human  and 
inhuman  vices.  In  other  stories,  again,  the  deep- 
seated  piety  of  the  muzhik,  and  his  patriarchal 
simplicity  of  heart  are  portrayed.  As  instance, 
the  story  of  "Two  Old  Men,"  (1885),  who  are 
pledged  to  attain  the  Holy  Land:  the  one  per- 
forms his  vow  to  the  letter,  the  other,  much  the 
godlier  of  the  two,  is  kept  from  his  goal  by  a 
work  of  practical  charity.  In  another  story  a 
muzhik  is  falsely  accused  of  murder  and  accepts 
his  undeserved  punishment  in  a  devout  spirit  of 
non-resistance.  In  a  third,  a  poor  cobbler  who 
intuitively  walks  in  the  light  is  deemed  worthy  of 
a  visit  from  Christ. 

In  "The  Power  of  Darkness,"  the  darkest 
traits  of  peasant  life  prevail,  yet  the  frightful  pic- 
ture is  somehow  Christianized,  as  it  were,  so  that 
even  the  miscreant  Nikita,  in  spite  of  his  mon- 
strous crimes,  is  sure  of  our  profound  compassion. 
We  are  gripped  at  the  very  heartstrings  by  that 
great  confession  scene  where  he  stutters  out  his 
budget  of  malefactions,  forced  by  his  awakened 
conscience  and  urged  on  by  his  old  father:  "Speak 
[184] 


Leo  Tolstoy 

out,  my  child,  speak  it  off  your  soul,  then  you  will 
feel  easier." 

"The  Power  of  Darkness"  was  given  its  coun- 
terpart in  the  satirical  comedy,  "Fruits  of  Cul- 
ture," (1889).  The  wickedness  of  refined  society 
is  more  mercilessly  excoriated  than  low-lived  in- 
famy. But  artistically  considered  the  peasant 
tragedy  is  far  superior  to  the  "society  play." 


Tolstoy  was  a  pessimist  both  by  temperament 
and  philosophical  persuasion.  This  is  made  mani- 
fest among  other  things  by  the  prominent  place 
which  the  idea  of  Death  occupies  in  his  writings. 
His  feelings  are  expressed  with  striking  simplicity 
by  one  of  the  principal  characters  in  "War  and 
Peace":  "One  must  often  think  of  death,  so  that 
it  may  lose  its  terrors  for  us,  cease  to  be  an  enemy, 
and  become  on  the  contrary  a  friend  that  delivers 
us  from  this  life  of  miseries."  Still,  in  Tolstoy's 
stories,  death,  as  a  rule,  is  a  haunting  spectre.  This 
conception  comes  to  the  fore  even  long  after  his 
conversion  in  a  story  like  "Master  and  Man." 
Throughout  his  literary  activity  it  has  an  obses- 
sive hold  on  his  mind.  Even  the  shadowing  of 
the  animal  mind  by  the  ubiquitous  spectre  gives 
rise  to  a  story:  "Cholstomjer,  The  Story  of  a 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

Horse,"  (1861),  and  in  one  of  the  earlier  tales 
even  the  death  of  a  tree  is  pictured.  Death  is 
most  terrifying  when,  denuded  of  its  heroic  em- 
bellishments in  battle  pieces  such  as  "The  Death 
of  a  Soldier"  ("Sebastopol")  or  the  description 
of  Prince  Andrey's  death  in  "War  and  Peace,"  it 
is  exposed  in  all  its  bare  and  grim  loathsomeness. 
Such  happens  in  the  short  novel  published  in  1886 
under  the  name  of  "The  Death  of  Ivan  Ilyitch," 
— in  point  of  literary  merit  one  of  Tolstoy's  great- 
est performances.  It  is  a  plain  tale  about  a  mid- 
dle-aged man  of  the  official  class,  happy  in  an 
unreflecting  sort  of  way  in  the  jog-trot  of  his  work 
and  domestic  arrangements.  Suddenly  his  fate  is 
turned, — by  a  trite  mishap  resulting  in  a  long, 
hopeless  sickness.  His  people  at  first  give  him  the 
most  anxious  care,  but  as  the  illness  drags  on 
their  devotion  gradually  abates,  the  patient  is 
neglected,  and  soon  almost  no  thought  is  given  to 
him.  In  the  monotonous  agony  of  his  prostration, 
the  sufferer  slowly  comes  to  realize  that  he  is 
dying,  while  his  household  has  gone  back  to  its 
habitual  ways  mindless  of  him,  as  though  he  were 
already  dead,  or  had  never  lived.  All  through  this 
lengthened  crucifixion  he  still  clings  to  life,  and  it 
is  only  when  the  family,  gathering  about  him 
[186] 


Leo  Tolstoy 

shortly  before  the  release,  can  but  ill  conceal  their 
impatience  for  the  end,  that  Ivan  at  last  accepts 
his  fate:  "I  will  no  longer  let  them  suffer — I 
will  die;  I  will  deliver  them  and  myself."  So  he 
dies,  and  the  world  pursues  its  course  unaltered, — 
in  which  consists  the  after-sting  of  this  poignant 
tragedy. 

Between  the  years  1879  and  1886  Tolstoy  pub- 
lished the  main  portion  of  what  may  be  regarded 
as  his  spiritual  autobiography,  namely,  "The  Con- 
fession," (1879,  with  a  supplement  in  1882), 
"The  Union  and  Translation  of  the  Four  Gos- 
pels," (1881-2),  "What  Do  I  Believe?"  (also 
translated  under  the  title  "My  Religion,"  1884) 
and  "What  Then  Must  We  Do?"  (1886).  He 
was  now  well  on  the  way  to  the  logical  ultimates 
of  his  ethical  ideas,  and  in  the  revulsion  from  ar- 
tistic ambitions  so  plainly  foreshown  in  a  treatise 
in  1887:  "What  is  True  Art?"  he  repudiated  un- 
equivocally all  his  earlier  work  so  far  as  it  sprang 
from  any  motives  other  than  those  of  moral  teach- 
ing. Without  a  clear  appreciation  of  these  facts  a 
just  estimate  of  "The  Kreutzer  Sonata"  (1889) 
is  impossible. 

The  central  character  of  the  book  is  a  common- 
place, rather  well-meaning  fellow  who  has  been 
[187] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

tried  for  the  murder  of  his  wife,  slain  by  him  in  a 
fit  of  insensate  jealousy,  and  has  been  acquitted 
because  of  the  extenuating  circumstances  in  the 
case.  The  object  of  the  story  is  to  lay  bare  the 
causes  of  his  crime.  Tolstoy's  ascetic  proclivity 
had  long  since  set  him  thinking  about  sex  problems 
in  general  and  in  particular  upon  the  ethics  of 
marriage.  And  by  this  time  he  had  arrived  at 
the  conclusion  that  the  demoralized  state  of  our 
society  is  chiefly  due  to  polygamy  and  polyan- 
drism;  corroboration  of  his  uncompromising 
views  on  the  need  of  social  purity  he  finds  in  the 
evangelist  Matthew,  v  127-28,  where  the  differ- 
ence between  the  old  command  and  its  new,  far 
more  rigorous,  interpretation  is  bluntly  stated: 
"Ye  have  heard  that  it  was  said  by  them  of  old 
time,  Thou  shalt  not  commit  adultery:  But  I  say 
unto  you  that  whosoever  looketh  on  a  woman  to 
lust  after  her  hath  committed  adultery  with  her 
already  in  his  heart." 

Now  Tolstoy  thinks  that  society,  far  from  con- 
curring in  the  scriptural  condemnation  of  lewd- 
ness,  caters  systematically  to  the  appetites  of  the 
voluptuary.  If  Tolstoy  is  right  in  his  diagnosis, 
then  the  euphemistic  term  "social  evil"  has  far 
wider  reaches  of  meaning  than  those  to  which  it  is 
[188] 


Leo  Tolstoy 

customarily  applied.  With  the  head  person  in 
"The  Kreutzer  Sonata,"  Tolstoy  regards  society 
as  no  better  than  a  maison  de  tolerance  conducted 
on  a  very  comprehensive  scale.  Women  are 
reared  with  the  main  object  of  alluring  men 
through  charms  and  accomplishments;  the  arts  of 
the  hairdresser,  the  dressmaker,  and  milliner,  as 
well  as  the  exertions  of  governesses,  music  mas- 
ters, and  linguists  all  converge  toward  the  same 
aim:  to  impart  the  power  of  attracting  men.  Be- 
tween the  woman  of  the  world  and  the  profes- 
sional courtezan  the  main  difference  in  the  light 
of  this  view  lies  in  the  length  of  the  service.  Pozd- 
nicheff  accordingly  divides  femininity  into  long 
term  and  short  term  prostitutes,  which  rather  fan- 
tastic classification  Tolstoy  follows  up  intrepidly 
to  its  last  logical  consequence. 

The  main  idea  of  "The  Kreutzer  Sonata,"  as 
stated  in  the  postscript,  is  that  sexless  life  is  best. 
A  recommendation  of  celibacy  as  mankind's  high- 
est ideal  to  be  logical  should  involve  a  wish  for 
the  disappearance  of  human  life  from  the  globe. 
A  world-view  of  such  pessimistic  sort  prevents  it- 
self from  the  forfeiture  of  all  bonds  with  humanity 
only  by  its  concomitant  reasoning  that  a  race  for 
whom  it  were  better  not  to  be  is  the  very  one  that 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

will  struggle  desperately  against  its  summum  bo- 
num.  Since  race  suicide,  then,  is  a  hopeless  de- 
sideratum, the  reformer  must  turn  to  more  prac- 
ticable methods  if  he  would  at  least  alleviate  the 
worst  of  our  social  maladjustments.  Idleness  is 
the  mother  of  all  mischief,  because  it  superinduces 
sensual  self-indulgence.  Therefore  we  must  sup- 
press anything  that  makes  for  leisure  and  pleas- 
ure. At  this  point  we  grasp  the  meaning  of  Tol- 
stoy's vehement  recoil  from  art.  It  is,  to  a  great 
extent,  the  strong-willed  resistance  of  a  highly 
impressionable  puritan  against  the  enticements  of 
beauty, — their  distracting  and  disquieting  effect, 
and  principally  their  power  of  sensuous  sugges- 
tion. 

The  last  extensive  work  published  by  Tolstoy 
was  "Resurrection,"  (1889).  In  artistic  merit  it 
is  not  on  a  level  with  "War  and  Peace"  and  "Anna 
Karenina,"  nor  can  this  be  wondered  at,  consider- 
ing the  opinion  about  the  value  of  art  that  had 
meanwhile  ripened  in  the  author. 

"Resurrection"  was  written  primarily  for  a  con- 
structive moral  purpose,  yet  the  subject  matter 
was  such  as  to  secrete,  unintendedly,  a  corrosive 
criticism  of  social  and  religious  cant.  The  satirical 
connotation  of  the  novel  could  not  have  been  more 
[190] 


Leo  Tolstoy 

grimly  brought  home  than  through  this  fact,  that 
the  hero  by  his  unswerving  allegiance  to  Christian 
principles  of  conduct  greatly  shocks,  at  first,  our 
sense  of  the  proprieties,  instead  of  eliciting  our 
enthusiastic  admiration.  In  spite  of  our  highest 
moral  notions  Prince  Nekhludoff,  like  that  hum- 
bler follower  of  the  voice  of  conscience  in  Gerhart 
Hauptmann's  novel,  impresses  us  as  a  "Fool  in 
Christ."  The  story,  itself,  leads  by  degrees  from 
the  under-world  of  crime  and  punishment  to  a 
great  spiritual  elevation.  Maslowa,  a  drunken 
street-walker,  having  been  tried  on  a  charge  of 
murder,  is  wrongfully  sentenced  to  transportation 
for  life,  because — the  jury  is  tired  out  and  the 
judge  in  a  hurry  to  visit  his  mistress.  Prince 
Nekhludoff,  sitting  on  that  jury,  recognizes  in  the 
victim  of  justice  a  girl  whose  downfall  he  himself 
had  caused.  He  is  seized  by  penitence  and  re- 
solves to  follow  the  convict  to  Siberia,  share  her 
sufferings,  dedicate  his  life  to  her  redemption. 
She  has  sunk  so  low  that  his  hope  of  reforming 
her  falters,  yet  true  to  his  resolution  he  offers  to 
marry  her.  Although  the  offer  is  rejected,  yet  the 
suggestion  of  a  new  life  which  it  brings  begins  to 
work  a  change  in  the  woman.  In  the  progress  of 
the  story  her  better  nature  gradually  gains  sway 

[190 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

until  a  thorough  moral  revolution  is    completed. 

"Resurrection"  derives  its  special  value  from 
its  clear  demonstration  of  those  rules  of  conduct 
to  which  the  author  was  straining  with  every  moral 
fiber  to  conform  his  own  life.  From  his  ethical 
speculations  and  social  experiments  are  projected 
figures  like  that  of  Maria  Paulovna,  a  rich  and 
beautiful  woman  who  prefers  to  live  like  a  com- 
mon workingwoman  and  is  drawn  by  her  social 
conscience  into  the  revolutionary  vortex.  In  this 
figure,  and  more  definitely  still  in  the  political  con- 
vict Simonson,  banished  because  of  his  educational 
work  among  the  common  people,  Tolstoy  studies 
for  the  first  time  the  so-called  "intellectual"  type 
of  revolutionist.  His  view  of  the  "intellectuals" 
is  sympathetic,  on  the  whole.  They  believe  that 
evil  springs  from  ignorance.  Their  agitation  is- 
sues from  the  highest  principles,  and  they  are 
capable  of  any  self-sacrifice  for  the  general  weal. 
Still  Tolstoy,  as  a  thoroughly  anti-political  re- 
former, deprecates  their  organized  movement. 

Altogether,  he  repudiated  the  systems  of  social 
reconstruction  that  go  by  the  name  of  socialism, 
because  he  relied  for  the  regeneration  of  society 
wholly  and  solely  upon  individual  self-elevation. 
In  an  essential  respect  he  was  nevertheless  a  so- 
[192] 


Leo  Tolstoy 

cialist,  inasmuch  as  he  strove  for  the  ideal  of  uni- 
versal equality.  His  social  philosophy,  bound  up 
inseparably  with  his  personal  religious  evolution, 
is  laid  down  in  a  vast  number  of  essays,  letters, 
sketches,  tracts,  didactic  tales,  and  perhaps  most 
comprehensively  in  those  autobiographical  docu- 
ments already  mentioned.  Sociologically  the  most 
important  of  these  is  a  book  on  the  problem  of 
property,  entitled,  "What  Then  Must  We  Do?" 
(1886),  which  expounds  the  passage  in  Luke 
iii:io,  n:  "And  the  people  asked  him,  saying, 
What  shall  we  do  then?  He  answered  and  saith 
unto  them,  He  that  hath  two  coats,  let  him  impart 
to  him  that  hath  none ;  and  he  that  hath  meat,  let 
him  do  likewise."  Not  long  before  that,  he  had 
thought  of  devoting  himself  entirely  to  charitable 
work,  but  practical  experiments  at  Moscow  dem- 
onstrated to  him  the  futility  of  almsgiving.  Speak- 
ing on  that  point  to  his  English  biographer,  Ayl- 
mer  Maude,1  he  remarked:  "All  such  activity,  if 
people  attribute  importance  to  it,  is  worthless." 
When  his  interviewer  insisted  that  the  destitute 
have  to  be  provided  for  somehow  and  that  the 
Count  himself  was  in  the  habit  of  giving  money 
to  beggars,  the  latter  replied:  "Yes,  but  I  do  not 

1  "The  Life  of  Tolstoy,"  Later  Years,  p.  643  f. 
[193] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

imagine  that  I  am  doing  good!  I  only  do  it  for 
myself,  because  I  know  that  I  have  no  right  to  be 
well  off  while  they  are  in  misery."  It  is  worth 
mention  in  passing  that  during  the  famine  of 
1891-2  this  determined  opponent  of  organized 
charity,  in  noble  inconsistency  with  his  theories,  led 
in  the  dispensation  of  relief  to  the  starving  popula- 
tion of  Middle  Russia. 

But  in  "What  Then  Must  We  Do?"  he  treats 
the  usual  organized  dabbling  in  charity  as  utterly 
preposterous:  "Give  away  all  you  have  or  else  you 
can  do  no  good."  .  .  .  "If  I  give  away  a  hundred 
thousand  and  still  withhold  five  hundred  thousand, 
I  am  far  from  acting  in  the  spirit  of  charity,  and 
remain  a  factor  of  social  injustice  and  evil.  At  the 
sight  of  the  freezing  and  hungering  I  must  still 
feel  responsible  for  their  plight,  and  feel  that 
since  we  should  live  in  conditions  where  that  evil 
can  be  abstained  from,  it  is  impossible  for  me  in 
the  position  in  which  I  deliberately  place  myself 
to  be  anything  other  than  a  source  of  general 
evil." 

It  was  chiefly  due  to  the  influence  of  two  peas- 
ants, named  Sutayeff  and  Bondareff,  that  Tolstoy 
decided  by  a  path  of  religious  reasoning  to  aban- 
don "parasitical  existence," — that  is,  to  sacrifice 
[194] 


Leo  Tolstoy 

all  prerogatives  of  his  wealth  and  station  and  to 
share  the  life  of  the  lowly.  He  reasoned  as  fol- 
lows: "Since  I  am  to  blame  for  the  existence  of 
social  wrong,  I  can  lessen  my  blame  only  by  mak- 
ing myself  like  unto  those  that  labor  and  are 
heavy-laden."  Economically,  Tolstoy  reasons 
from  this  fallacy:  If  all  men  do  not  participate 
equitably  in  the  menial  work  that  has  to  be  per- 
formed in  the  world,  it  follows  that  a  dispropor- 
tionate burden  of  work  falls  upon  the  shoulders 
of  the  more  defenseless  portion  of  humanity. 
Whether  this  undue  amount  of  labor  be  exacted 
in  the  form  of  chattel  slavery,  or,  which  is  scarcely 
less  objectionable,  in  the  form  of  the  virtual  sla- 
very imposed  by  modern  industrial  conditions, 
makes  no  material  difference.  The  evil  conditions 
are  bound  to  continue  so  long  as  the  instincts  that 
make  for  idleness  prevail  over  the  co-operative  im- 
pulses. The  only  remedy  lies  in  the  simplification 
of  life  in  the  upper  strata  of  the  social  body,  over- 
work in  the  laboring  classes  being  the  direct  result 
of  the  excessive  demands  for  the  pleasures  and 
luxuries  of  life  in  the  upper  classes. 

To  Bondareff  in  particular  Tolstoy  confessedly 
owes  the  conviction  that  the  best  preventive  for 
immorality  is  physical  labor,  for  which  reason  the 

[195] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

lower  classes  are  less  widely  removed  from  grace 
than  the  upper.  Bondareff  maintained  on  scrip- 
tural grounds  that  everybody  should  employ  at 
least  a  part  of  his  time  in  working  the  land.  This 
view  Tolstoy  shared  definitely  after  1884.  Not 
only  did  he  devote  a  regular  part  of  his  day  to 
agricultural  labor;  he  learned,  in  addition,  shoe- 
making  and  carpentry,  meaning  to  demonstrate  by 
his  example  that  it  is  feasible  to  return  to  those 
patriarchal  conditions  under  which  the  necessities 
of  life  were  produced  by  the  consumer  himself. 
From  this  time  forth  he  modelled  his  habits  more 
and  more  upon  those  of  the  common  rustic.  He 
adopted  peasant  apparel  and  became  extremely 
frugal  in  his  diet.  Although  by  natural  taste  he 
was  no  scorner  of  the  pleasures  of  the  table,  he 
now  eliminated  one  luxury  after  another.  About 
this  time  he  also  turned  strict  vegetarian,  then 
gave  up  the  use  of  wine  and  spirits,  and  ultimately 
even  tobacco,  of  which  he  had  been  very  fond,  was 
made  to  go  the  way  of  flesh.  He  practiced  this 
self-abnegation  in  obedience  to  the  Law  of  Life 
which  he  interpreted  as  a  stringent  renunciation 
of  physical  satisfactions  and  personal  happiness. 
Nor  did  he  shirk  the  ultimate  conclusion  to  which 
his  premises  led:  if  the  Law  of  Life  imposes  the 
[196] 


Leo  Tolstoy 

suppression  of  all  natural  desires  and  appetites 
and  commands  the  voluntary  sacrifice  of  every 
form  of  property  and  power,  it  must  be  clear  that 
life  itself  is  devoid  of  sense  and  utterly  undesir- 
able. And  so  it  is  expressly  stated  in  his 
"Thoughts."1  J 

To  what  extent  Tolstoy  was  a  true  Christian 
believer  may  best  be  gathered  from  his  own  writ- 
ings, "What  Do  I  Believe?"  (1884),  "On  Life," 
(1887),  and  "The  Kingdom  of  God  is  within 
You,"  (1893).  Although  at  the  age  of  seventeen 
he  had  ceased  to  be  orthodox,  there  can  be  no 
question  whatever  that  throughout  his  whole  life 
religion  remained  the  deepest  source  of  his  in- 
spiration. By  the  early  eighties  he  had  emerged 
from  that  acute  scepticism  that  well-nigh  cost  him 
life  and  reason,  and  had,  outwardly  at  least,  made 
his  peace  with  the  church,  attending  services  regu- 
larly, and  observing  the  feasts  and  the  fasts;  here 
again  in  imitating  the  muzhik  in  his  religious  prac- 
tices he  strove  apparently  to  attain  also  to  the 
muzhik's  actual  gift  of  credulity.  But  in  this  en- 
deavor his  superior  culture  proved  an  impediment 
to  him,  and  his  widening  doctrinal  divergence  from 

'No.  434. 

[197] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

the  established  church  finally  drew  upon  his  head, 
in  1891,  the  official  curse  of  the  Holy  Synod.  And 
yet  a  leading  religious  journal  was  right,  shortly 
after  his  death,  in  this  comment  upon  the  religious 
meaning  of  his  life:  "If  Christians  everywhere 
should  put  their  religious  beliefs  into  practice  with 
the  simplicity  and  sincerity  of  Tolstoy,  the  entire 
religious,  moral,  and  social  life  qf  the  world  would 
be  revolutionized  in  a  month."  The  orthodox 
church  expelled  him  from  its  communion  because 
of  his  radicalism;  but  in  his  case  radicalism  meant 
indeed  the  going  to  the  roots  of  Christian  religion, 
to  the  original  foundations  of  its  doctrines.  In  the 
teachings  of  the  primitive  church  there  presented 
itself  to  Tolstoy  a  dumfoundingly  simple  code  for 
the  attainment  of  moral  perfection.  Hence  arose 
his  opposition  to  the  established  church  which 
seemed  to  have  strayed  so  widely  from  its  own 
fundamentals. 

Since  Tolstoy's  life  aimed  at  the  progressive 
exercise  of  self-sacrifice,  his  religious  belief  could 
be  no  gospel  of  joy.  In  fact,  his  is  a  sad,  gray, 
ascetic  religion,  wholly  devoid  of  poetry  and  emo- 
tional uplift.  He  did  not  learn  to  believe  in  the 
divinity  of  Christ  nor  in  the  existence  of  a  God 
in  any  definite  sense  personal,  and  it  is  not  evea 
[198] 


Leo  Tolstoy 

clear  whether  he  believed  in  an  after-life.  And 
yet  he  did  not  wrongfully  call  himself  a  Christian, 
for  the  mainspring  of  his  faith  and  his  labor  was 
the  message  of  Christ  delivered  to  his  disciples 
in  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount.  This,  for  Tolstoy, 
contained  all  the  philosophy  and  the  theology  of 
which  the  modern  world  stands  in  need,  since  in 
the  precept  of  non-resistance  is  joined  forever  the 
issue  between  the  Law  and  the  Gospel :  "Ye  have 
heard  that  it  hath  been  said,  An  eye  for  an  eye, 
and  a  tooth  for  a  tooth :  But  I  say  unto  you,  That 
ye  resist  not  evil :  but  whosoever  shall  smite  thee 
on  the  right  cheek,  turn  to  him  the  other  also." 

And  farther  on:  "Ye  have  heard  that  it  hath 
been  said,  Thou  shalt  love  thy  neighbor,  and  hate 
thine  enemy.  But  I  say  unto  you,  Love  your 
enemies,  bless  them  that  curse  you,  do  good  to 
them  that  hate  you,  and  pray  for  them  that  despite- 
fully  use  you,  and  persecute  you."  .  .  . 

In  this  commandment  Tolstoy  found  warrant 
for  unswerving  forbearance  toward  every  species 
of  private  and  corporate  aggression.  Offenders 
against  individuals  or  the  commonwealth  deserve 
nothing  but  pity.  Prisons  should  be  abolished  and 
criminals  never  punished.  Tolstoy  went  so  far 
as  to  declare  that  even  if  he  saw  his  own  wife  or 

[199] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

daughters  being  assaulted,  he  would  abstain  from 
using  force  in  their  defense.  The  infliction  of  the 
death  penalty  was  to  him  the  most  odious  of 
crimes.  No  life,  either  human  or  animal,  should 
be  wilfully  destroyed. 

The  doctrine  of  non-resistance  removes  every 
conceivable  excuse  for  war  between  the  nations. 
A  people  is  as  much  bound  as  is  an  individual  by 
the  injunction:  "Whosoever  shall  smite  thee  on 
the  right  cheek,  turn  to  him  the  other  also."  War 
is  not  to  be  justified  on  patriotic  grounds,  for 
patriotism,  far  from  being  a  virtue,  is  an  enlarged 
and  unduly  glorified  form  of  selfishness.  Con- 
sistently with  his  convictions,  Tolstoy  put  forth 
his  strength  not  for  the  glory  of  his  nation  but  for 
the  solidarity  of  mankind. 

The  cornerstones  of  Tolstoy's  religion,  then, 
were  these  three  articles  of  faith.  First,  True 
Faith  gives  Life.  Second,  Man  must  live  by  labor. 
Third,  Evil  must  never  be  resisted  by  means  of 
evil.  

Outside  of  the  sphere  of  religious  thought  it  is 
inaccurate  to  speak  of  a  specific  Tolstoyan  philos- 
ophy, and  it  is  impossible  for  the  student  to  sub- 
scribe unconditionally  to  the  hackneyed  formula  of 
[200] 


Leo  Tolstoy 

the  books  that  Tolstoy  "will  be  remembered  as 
perhaps  the  most  profound  influence  of  his  day  on 
human  thought."  Yet  the  statement  might  be 
made  measurably  true  if  it  were  modified  in  ac- 
cordance with  the  important  reservation  made 
earlier  in  this  sketch.  In  the  field  of  thought  he 
was  not  an  original  explorer.  He  was  great  only 
as  the  promulgator,  not  as  the  inventor,  of  ideas. 
His  work  has  not  enriched  the  wisdom  of  man  by 
a  single  new  thought,  nor  was  he  a  systematizer 
and  expounder  of  thought  or  a  philosopher.  In 
fact  he  possessed  slight  familiarity  with  philo- 
sophical literature.  Among  the  older  metaphysi- 
cians his  principal  guide  was  Spinoza,  and  in  more 
modern  speculative  science  he  did  not  advance 
beyond  Schopenhauer.  To  the  latter  he  was  not 
altogether  unlike  in  his  mental  temper.  At  least 
he  showed  himself  indubitably  a  pessimist  in  his 
works  by  placing  in  fullest  relief  the  bad  side  of 
the  social  state.  We  perceive  the  pessimistic  dis- 
position also  through  his  personal  behavior,  see- 
ing how  he  desponded  under  the  discords  of  life, 
how  easily  he  lost  courage  whenever  he  undertook 
to  cope  with  practical  problems,  and  how  sedu- 
lously he  avoided  the  contact  with  temptations.  It 
was  only  by  an  almost  total  withdrawal  from  the 
[.201] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

world,  and  by  that  entire  relief  from  its  daily  and 
ordinary  affairs  which  he  owed  to  the  devotion  of 
his  wife  that  Tolstoy  was  enabled  during  his  later 
years  to  look  upon  the  world  less  despairingly. 

Like  his  theology,  so,  too,  his  civic  and  economic 
creed  was  marked  by  the  utmost  and  altogether 
too  primitive  simplicity.  Political  questions  were 
of  slight  interest  to  him,  unless  they  touched  upon 
his  vital  principles.  If,  therefore,  we  turn  from 
his  very  definite  position  in  matters  of  individual 
conduct  to  his  political  views,  we  shall  find  that 
he  was  wanting  in  a  program  of  practical  changes. 
His  only  positive  contribution  to  economic  discus- 
sion was  a  persistent  advocacy  of  agrarian  reform. 
Under  the  influence  of  Henry  George  he  became 
an  eloquent  pleader  for  the  single  tax  and  the 
nationalization  of  the  land.  This  question  he 
discussed  in  numerous  places,  with  especial  force 
and  clearness  in  a  long  article  entitled  "A  Great 
Iniquity."  l  He  takes  the  view  that  the  mission  of 
the  State,  if  it  have  any  at  all,  can  only  consist 
in  guaranteeing  the  rights  of  every  one  of  its 
denizens,  but  that  in  actual  fact  the  State  protects 
only  the  rights  of  the  propertied.  Intelligent  and 
right-minded  citizens  must  not  conspire  with  the 

1  Printed  in  the  (London)   Times  of  September  10,  1905. 
[2O2] 


Leo  Tolstoy 

State  to  ride  rough-shod  over  the  helpless  major- 
ity. Keenly  alive  to  the  unalterable  tendency  of 
organized  power  to  abridge  the  rights  of  individu- 
als and  to  dominate  both  their  material  and  spir- 
itual existence,  Tolstoy  fell  into  the  opposite  ex- 
treme and  would  have  abolished  with  a  clean  sweep 
all  factors  of  social  control,  including  the  right  of 
property  and  the  powers  of  government,  and 
transformed  society  into  a  community  of  equals 
and  brothers,  relying  for  its  peace  and  well-being 
upon  a  universal  love  of  liberty  and  justice. 

By  his  disbelief  in  authority,  the  rejection  of 
the  socialists'  schemes  of  reconstruction,  his  mis- 
trust of  fixed  institutions  and  reliance  on  individ- 
ual right-mindedness  for  the  maintenance  of  the 
common  good,  Tolstoy  in  the  sphere  of  civic 
thought  separated  himself  from  the  political  so- 
cialists by  the  whole  diameter  of  initial  principle; 
he  might  not  unjustly  be  classified,  therefore,  as 
an  anarchist,  if  this  definition  were  neither  too 
narrow  nor  too  wide.  The  Christian  Socialists 
might  claim  him,  because  he  aspires  ardently  to 
ideals  essentially  Christian  in  their  nature,  and 
there  is  surely  truth  in  the  thesis  that  "every 
thinker  who  understands  and  earnestly  accepts 
the  teaching  of  the  Master  is  at  heart  a  social- 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

1st."  At  the  same  time,  Christianity  and  Social- 
ism do  not  travel  the  whole  way  together.  For 
a  religion  that  enjoins  patience  and  submission 
can  hardly  be  conducive  to  the  full  flowering  of 
Socialism.  And  Tolstoy's  attitude  towards  the 
church  differs  radically  from  that  of  the  Christian 
Socialists.  On  the  whole  one  had  best  abstain 
from  classifying  men  of  genius. 

The  base  of  Tolstoy's  social  creed  was  the  non- 
recognition  of  private  property.  The  effect  of 
the  present  system  is  to  maintain  the  inequality 
of  men  and  thereby  to  excite  envy  and  stir  up 
hatred  among  them.  Eager  to  set  a  personal  ex- 
ample and  precedent,  Tolstoy  rendered  himself 
nominally  penniless  by  making  all  his  property, 
real  and  personal,  over  to  his  wife  and  children. 
Likewise  he  abdicated  his  copyrights.  Thus  he 
reduced  himself  to  legal  pauperism  with  a  com- 
pleteness of  success  that  cannot  but  stir  with  envy 
the  bosom  of  any  philanthropist  who  shares  Mr. 
Andrew  Carnegie's  conviction  that  to  die  rich  is 
to  die  disgraced. 

Tolstoy's  detractors  have  cast  a  plausible  sus- 
picion upon  his  sincerity.  They  pointed  out 
among  other  things  that  his  relinquishment  of 
pecuniary  profit  in  his  books  was  apparent,  not 


Leo  Tolstoy 

real.  Since  Russia  has  no  copyright  conventions 
with  other  countries,  it  was  merely  making  a  vir- 
tue of  necessity  to  authorize  freely  the  transla- 
tion of  his  works  into  foreign  languages.  As  for 
the  Russian  editions  of  his  writings,  it  is  said  that 
in  so  far  as  the  heavy  hand  of  the  censor  did  not 
prevent,  the  Countess,  as  her  husband's  financial 
agent,  managed  quite  skilfully  to  exploit  them. 


Altogether,  did  Tolstoy  practice  what  he  pro- 
fessed? Inconsistency  between  principles  and 
conduct  is  a  not  uncommon  frailty  of  genius,  as  is 
notoriously  illustrated  by  Tolstoy's  real  spiritual 
progenitor,  Jean  Jacques  Rousseau. 

Now  there  are  many  discreditable  stories  in 
circulation  about  the  muzhik  lord  of  Yasnaya 
Polyana.  He  urged  upon  others  the  gospel  com- 
mands: "Lay  not  up  for  yourselves  treasures 
upon  earth"  and:  "Take  what  ye  have  and  give 
to  the  poor,"  and  for  his  own  part  lived,  accord- 
ing to  report,  in  sumptuous  surroundings.  He 
went  ostentatiously  on  pilgrimages  to  holy  places, 
barefooted  but  with  an  expert  pedicure  attending 
him.  He  dressed  in  a  coarse  peasant  blouse,  but 
underneath  it  wore  fine  silk  and  linen.  He  was 
a  vegetarian  of  the  strictest  observance,  yet  so 
[205] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

much  of  an  epicure  that  his  taste  for  unseasonable 
dainties  strained  the  domestic  resources.  He 
preached  simplicity,  and  according  to  rumor  dined 
off  priceless  plate;  taught  the  equality  of  men, 
and  was  served  by  lackies  in  livery.  He  abstained 
from  alcohol  and  tobacco,  but  consumed  six  cups 
of  strong  coffee  at  a  sitting.  Finally,  he  extolled 
the  sexless  life  and  was  the  father  of  thirteen  chil- 
dren. It  was  even  murmured  that  notwithstand- 
ing his  professed  affection  for  the  muzhik  and  his 
incessant  proclamation  of  universal  equality,  the 
peasantry  of  Yasnaya  Polyana  was  the  most 
wretchedly-treated  to  be  found  in  the  whole  prov- 
ince and  that  the  extortionate  landlordism  of  the 
Tolstoys  was  notorious  throughout  the  empire. 

Much  of  this,  to  be  sure,  is  idle  gossip,  un- 
worthy of  serious  attention.  Nevertheless,  there 
is  evidence  enough  to  show  that  Tolstoy's  in- 
sistence upon  a  literal  acceptance  of  earlier  Chris- 
tian doctrines  led  him  into  unavoidable  incon- 
sistencies and  shamed  him  into  a  tragical  sense  of 
dishonesty. 

Unquestionably  Tolstoy  lived  very  simply  and 

laboriously  for  a  man  of  great  rank,  means,  and 

fame,  but  his  life  was  neither  hard  nor  cramped. 

Having  had  no  personal  experience  of   garret 

,[206] 


Leo  Tolstoy 

and  hovel,  he  could  have  no  first-hand  practical 
knowledge  of  the  sting  of  poverty,  nor  could  he 
obtain  hardship  artificially  by  imposing  upon  him- 
self a  mild  imitation  of  physical  discomfort.  For 
the  true  test  of  penury  is  not  the  suffering  of  to- 
day but  the  oppressive  dread  of  to-morrow.  His 
ostensible  muzhik  existence,  wanting  in  none  of 
the  essentials  of  civilization,  was  a  romance  that 
bore  to  the  real  squalid  pauperism  of  rural  Russia 
about  the  same  relation  that  the  bucolic  make-be- 
lief of  Boucher's  or  Watteau's  swains  and  shep- 
herdesses bore  to  the  unperfumed  truth  of  a 
sheep-farm  or  a  hog-sty.  As  time  passed,  and  the 
sage  turned  his  thoughts  to  a  more  rigid  enforce- 
ment of  his  renunciations,  it  was  no  easy  task  for 
a  devoted  wife  to  provide  comfort  for  him  with- 
out shaking  him  too  rudely  out  of  his  fond  illusion 
that  he  was  enduring  privations. 

After  all,  then,  his  practice  did  not  tally  with 
his  theory;  and  this  consciousness  of  living  con- 
trary to  his  own  teachings  was  a  constant  source 
of  unhappiness  which  no  moral  quibbles  of  his 
friends  could  still. 

Yet  no  man  could  be  farther  from  being  a  hyp- 
ocrite. If  at  last  he  broke  down  under  a  burden 
of  conscience,  it  was  a  burden  imposed  by  the 

I  C2°7] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

reality  of  human  nature  which  makes  it  impossible 
for  any  man  to  live  up  to  intentions  of  such  rigor 
as  Tolstoy's.  From  the  start  he  realized  that 
he  did  not  conform  his  practice  entirely  to  his 
teachings,  and  as  he  grew  old  he  was  resolved  that 
having  failed  to  harmonize  his  life  with  his  be- 
liefs he  would  at  least  corroborate  his  sincerity 
by  his  manner  of  dying.  Even  in  this,  however, 
he  was  to  be  thwarted.  In  his  dramatic  ending, 
still  plainly  remembered,  we  feel  a  grim  con- 
sistency with  the  lifelong  defeat  of  his  will  to 
suffer. 

Early  in  1910  a  student  by  the  name  of  Manzos 
addressed  a  rebuke  to  Tolstoy  for  simulating  the 
habits  of  the  poor,  denouncing  his  mode  of  life  as 
a  form  of  mummery.  He  challenged  the  sage  to 
forsake  his  comforts  and  the  affections  of  his 
family,  and  to  go  forth  and  beg  his  way  from 
place  to  place.  "Do  this,"  entreated  the  young 
fanatic,  "and  you  will  be  the  first  true  man  after 
Christ."  With  his  typical  large-heartedness,  Tol- 
stoy accepted  the  reproof  and  said  in  the  course 
of  his  long  reply:1  .  .  .  "The  fact  that  I  am 
living  with  wife  and  daughter  in  terrible  and 
shameful  conditions  of  luxury  when  poverty  sur- 

1  February  17,  1910. 

[208]  •«' 


Leo  Tolstoy 

rounds  me  on  all  sides,  torments  me  ever  more 
and  more,  and  there  is  not  a  day  when  I  am  not 
thinking  of  following  your  advice.  I  thank  you 
very,  very  much  for  your  letter."  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  he  had  more  than  once  before  made  ready 
to  put  his  convictions  to  a  fiery  proof  by  a  final 
sacrifice, — leaving  his  home  and  spending  his  re- 
maining days  in  utter  solitude.  But  when  he 
finally  proceeded  to  carry  out  this  ascetic  intention 
and  actually  set  out  on  a  journey  to  some  vague 
and  lonely  destination,  he  was  foiled  in  his  pur- 
pose. If  ever  Tolstoy's  behavior  irresistibly  pro- 
voked misrepresentation  of  his  motives  it  was  by 
this  somewhat  theatrical  hegira.  The  fugitive 
left  Yasnaya  Polyana,  not  alone,  but  with  his  two 
favorite  companions,  his  daughter  Alexandra  and 
a  young  Hungarian  physician  who  for  some  time 
had  occupied  the  post  of  private  secretary  to  him. 
After  paying  a  farewell  visit  to  his  sister,  a  nun 
cloistered  in  Shamardin,  he  made  a  start  for  the 
Trans-Caucasus.  His  idea  was  to  go  somewhere 
near  the  Tolstoy  colony  at  the  Black  Sea.  But 
in  an  early  stage  of  the  journey,  a  part  of  which 
was  made  in  an  ordinary  third-class  railway  com- 
partment, the  old  man  was  overcome  by  illness 
and  fatigue.  He  was  moved  to  a  trackman's  hut 
[209] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

at  the  station  of  Astopovo,  not  farther  than  eighty 
miles  from  his  home,  and  here, — surrounded  by 
his  hastily  summoned  family  and  tenderly  nursed 
for  five  days, — he  expired.  Thus  he  was  denied 
the  summit  of  martyrdom  to  which  he  had  as- 
pired,— a  lonely  death,  unminded  of  men. 


Even  a  summary  review  like  this  of  Tolstoy's 
life  and  labors  cannot  be  concluded  without  some 
consideration  of  his  final  attitude  toward  the  es- 
thetic embodiment  of  civilization.  The  develop- 
ment of  his  philosophy  of  self-abnegation  had  led 
irresistibly,  as  we  have  seen,  to  the  condemnation 
of  all  self-regarding  instincts.  Among  these,  Art 
appeared  to  him  as  one  of  the  most  insidious.  He 
warned  against  the  cultivation  of  the  beautiful  on 
the  ground  that  it  results  in  the  suppression  and 
destruction  of  the  moral  sense.  Already  in  1883 
it  was  known  that  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to 
abandon  his  artistic  aspirations  out  of  loyalty  to 
his  moral  theory,  and  would  henceforth  dedicate 
his  talents  exclusively  to  the  propagation  of  hu- 
manitarian views.  In  vain  did  the  dean  of  Rus- 
sian letters,  Turgenieff,  appeal  to  him  with  a 
death-bed  message:  "My  friend,  great  writer  of 
the  Russians,  return  to  literary  work!  Heed  my 
[210] 


Leo  Tolstoy 

prayer."  Tolstoy  stood  firm  in  his  determination. 
Nevertheless,  his  genius  refused  to  be  throttled  by 
his  conscience;  he  could  not  paralyze  his  artistic 
powers;  he  could  merely  bend  them  to  his  moral 
aims. 

As  a  logical  corollary  to  his  opposition  to  art 
for  art's  sake,  Tolstoy  cast  from  him  all  his  own 
writings  antedating  "Confession," — and  de- 
nounced all  of  them  as  empty  manifestations  of 
worldly  conceit.  His  authorship  of  that  immortal 
novel,  "War  and  Peace,"  filled  him  with  shame 
and  remorse.  His  views  on  Art  are  plainly  and 
forcibly  expounded  in  the  famous  treatise  on 
"What  is  Art?"  and  in  the  one  on  "Shakespeare." 
In  both  he  maintains  that  Art,  no  matter  of  what 
sort,  should  serve  the  sole  purpose  of  bringing 
men  nearer  to  each  other  in  the  common  purpose 
of  right  living.  Hence,  no  art  work  is  legitimate 
without  a  pervasive  moral  design.  The  only  true 
touchstone  of  an  art  work  is  the  uplifting  strength 
that  proceeds  from  it.  Therefore,  a  painting  like 
the  "Angelus,"  or  a  poem  like  "The  Man  with  the 
Hoe"  would  transcend  in  worth  the  creations  of 
a  Michael  Angelo  or  a  Heinrich  Heine  even  as 
the  merits  of  Sophocles,  Shakespeare,  and  Goethe 
arc  outmatched  in  Tolstoy's  judgment  by  those  of 

[211] 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

Victor  Hugo,  Charles  Dickens,  and  George  Eliot. 
By  the  force  of  this  naive  reasoning  and  his  theo- 
retical antipathy  toward  true  art,  he  was  led  to  see 
in  "Uncle  Tom's  Cabin"  the  veritable  acme  of 
literary  perfection,  for  the  reason  that  this  book 
wielded  such  an  enormous  and  noble  influence 
upon  the  most  vital  question  of  its  day.  He 
strongly  discountenanced  the  literary  practice  of 
revamping  ancient  themes,  believing  with  Ibsen 
that  modern  writers  should  impart  their  ideas 
through  the  medium  of  modern  life.  Yet  at  the 
same  time  he  was  up  in  arms  against  the  self- 
styled  "moderns" !  They  took  their  incentives 
from  science,  and  this  Tolstoy  decried,  because 
science  did  not  fulfill  its  mission  of  teaching  people 
how  rightly  to  live.  In  this  whole  matter  he  rea- 
soned doggedly  from  fixed  ideas,  no  matter  to 
what  ultimates  the  argument  would  carry  him. 
For  instance,  he  did  not  stick  at  branding  Shake- 
speare as  an  utter  barbarian,  and  to  explain  the 
reverence  for  such  "disgusting"  plays  as  "King 
Lear"  as  a  crass  demonstration  of  imitative 
hypocrisy. 

Art  in  general  is  a  practice  aiming  at  the  pro- 
duction of  the  beautiful.     But  what  is  "beauti- 
ful"? asked  Tolstoy.     The  current  definitions  he 
[212] 


Leo  Tolstoy 

pronounced  wrong  because  they  were  formulated 
from  the  standpoint  of  the  pleasure-seeker.  Such 
at  least  has  been  the  case  since  the  Renaissance. 
From  that  time  forward,  Art,  like  all  cults  of 
pleasure,  has  been  evil.  To  the  pleasure-seeker, 
the  beautiful  is  that  which  is  enjoyable;  hence  he 
appraises  works  of  art  according  to  their  ability 
to  procure  enjoyment.  In  Tolstoy's  opinion  this 
is  no  less  absurd  than  if  we  were  to  estimate  the 
nutritive  value  of  food-stuffs  by  the  pleasure  ac- 
companying their  consumption.  So  he  baldly  de- 
clares that  we  must  abolish  beauty  as  a  criterion 
of  art,  or  conversely,  must  establish  truth  as  the 
single  standard  of  beauty.  "The  heroine  of  my 
stories  whom  I  strive  to  represent  in  all  her 
beauty,  who  was  ever  beautiful,  is  so,  and  will 
remain  so,  is  Truth." 

His  views  on  art  have  a  certain  analogy  with 
two  modern  schools, —  much  against  his  will, 
since  he  strenuously  disavows  and  deprecates 
everything  modern;  they  make  us  think  on  the 
one'hand  of  the  "naturalists^"  inasmuch  as  like 
them  Tolstoy  eschews  all  intentional  graces  of 
style  and  diction;  and  on  the  other  hand  of  the 
"impressionists,"  with  whom  he  seems  united  by 
his  fundamental  definition  of  art,  namely  that  it 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

is  the  expression  of  a  dominant  emotion  calculated 
to  reproduce  itself  in  the  reader  or  beholder. 
Lacking,  however,  a  deep  and  catholic  under- 
standing for  art,  Tolstoy,  in  contrast  with  the 
modern  impressionists,  would  restrict  artists  to 
the  expression  of  a  single  type  of  sentiments,  those 
that  reside  in  the  sphere  of  religious  conscious- 
ness. To  him  art,  as  properly  conceived  and 
practiced,  must  be  ancillary  to  religion,  and  its 
proper  gauge  is  the  measure  of  its  agreement  with 
accepted  moral  teachings.  Remembering,  then, 
the  primitive  form  of  belief  to  which  Tolstoy  con- 
trived to  attain,  we  find  ourselves  face  to  face 
with  a  theory  of  art  which  sets  up  as  the  final 
arbiter  the  man  "unspoiled  by  culture,"  and  he, 
in  Tolstoy's  judgment,  is  the  Russian  muzhik. 


This  course  of  reasoning  on  art  is  in  itself 
sufficient  to  show  the  impossibility  for  any  modern 
mind  of  giving  sweeping  assent  to  Tolstoy's  teach- 
ings. And  a  like  difficulty  would  be  experienced 
if  we  tried  to  follow  him  in  his  meditations  on  any 
other  major  interest  of  life.  Seeking  with  a  tre- 
mendous earnestness  of  conscience  to  reduce  the 
bewildering  tangle  of  human  affairs  to  elementary 
simplicity,  he  enmeshed  himself  in  a  new  network 
[214] 


Leo  Tolstoy 

of  contradictions.  The  effect  was  disastrous  for 
the  best  part  of  his  teaching;  his  own  extremism 
stamped  as  a  hopeless  fantast  a  man  incontestably 
gifted  by  nature,  as  few  men  have  been  in  history, 
with  the  cardinal  virtues  of  a  sage,  a  reformer, 
and  a  missionary  of  social  justice.  Because  of 
this  extremism,  his  voice  was  doomed  to  remain 
that  of  one  crying  in  the  wilderness. 

The  world  could  not  do  better  than  to  accept 
Tolstoy's  fundamental  prescriptions:  simplicity  of 
living,  application  to  work,  and  concentration 
upon  moral  culture.  But  to  apply  his  radical 
scheme  to  existing  conditions  would  amount  to  a 
self-stultification  of  the  race,  for  it  would  entail 
the  unpardonably  sinful  sacrifice  of  some  of  the 
finest  and  most  hard-won  achievements  of  human 
progress.  For  our  quotidian  difficulties  his  ex- 
ample promises  no  solution.  The  great  mass  of 
us  are  not  privileged  to  test  our  individual  schemes 
of  redemption  in  the  leisured  security  of  an  ideal 
experiment  station;  not  for  every  man  is  there  a 
Yasnaya  Polyana,  and  the  Sophia  Andreyevnas 
are  thinly  sown  in  the  matrimonial  market. 

But  even  though  Tolstoyism  will  not  serve  as  a 
means  of  solving  the  great  social  problems,  it  sup- 
plies a  helpful  method  of  social  criticism.  And  its 


Prophets  of  Dissent 

value  goes  far  beyond  that :  the  force  of  his  influ- 
ence was  too  great  not  to  have  strengthened  enor- 
mously the  moral  conscience  of  the  world;  he  has 
played,  and  will  continue  to  play,  a  leading  part 
in  the  establishing  and  safeguarding  of  democ- 
racy. After  all,  we  do  not  have  to  separate  metic- 
ulously what  is  true  in  Tolstoy's  teaching  from 
what  is  false  in  order  to  acknowledge  him  as  a 
Voice  of  his  epoch.  For  as  Lord  Morley  puts  the 
matter  in  the  case  of  Jean  Jacques  Rousseau: 
"There  are  some  teachers  whose  distinction  is 
neither  correct  thought,  nor  an  eye  for  the  exi- 
gencies of  practical  organization,  but  simply  depth 
and  fervor  of  the  moral  sentiment,  bringing  with 
it  the  indefinable  gift  of  touching  many  hearts  with 
love  of  virtue  and  the  things  of  the  spirit." 


[216] 


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